


Two Hearts

by saltandrockets



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Finnrey, Infertility, Kylux Big Bang, Kylux Big Bang 2019, M/M, Mpreg, benarmie, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:02:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21623524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandrockets/pseuds/saltandrockets
Summary: After almost a decade together, Ben Solo and Armitage Hux have it all, except for the one thing they want most.When they struggle to grow their family, can their marriage survive?
Relationships: Armitage Hux/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 39
Kudos: 211
Collections: Kylux Big Bang 2019





	Two Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is a collaboration between [firstorderdaddies](http://firstorderdaddies.tumblr.com/) (Pengu here on ao3) and [saltandrockets](http://saltandrockets.tumblr.com/) for the Kylux Big Bang 2019. original concept and art by firstorderdaddies; written content by saltandrockets.
> 
> **content warnings:** alpha/beta/omega dynamics; infertility; non-graphic references to and descriptions of medical procedures (such as injections); brief descriptions of blood; references to weight gain and body image issues; male pregnancy; female pregnancy; references to afab anatomy
> 
> please see the end notes for additional content warnings, which contain spoilers.

Armitage was face-down on their bed, stripped below the waist, face buried in his folded arms.

As Ben sat beside him, he ran a hand along his husband’s bare flank, which was mottled blue and green and yellow. He tried to be gentle, but Armitage bruised like a sihan peach, no matter what he did. “Are you ready?”

“Just get it over with,” Armitage said, his voice muffled.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Ben replied.

“It’s fine.”

That was the old assurance: “It’s fine,” and not “you won’t hurt me,” because they both knew that Ben would. This hurt every time.

Ben hesitated for a moment more. Then he picked up the syringe on the bedside table. He found an unbruised spot near Armitage’s right hip, pinched the skin between thumb and forefinger, then stuck the needle in with a quick motion.

He felt Armitage tense when he pushed the plunger down. This medication burned going in, but the burning was less intense when Ben injected it slowly. He mentally counted to ten, then waited a few more seconds before pulling the needle out.

A fat drop of blood welled up and rolled along Armitage’s hip.

Ben cursed under his breath. After years of treatments and injections, he still hadn’t gotten the hang of this. “You’re bleeding,” he said, setting the syringe aside. On impulse, he tried to wipe the blood off with his fingers, but that just smeared it around, a messy red streak against the pale skin. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Armitage said again, but his voice was a little thinner. “Just—get a towel or something. Please.”

The last word was stiff, like an afterthought. Ben was already heading to the refresher. He came back a minute later with tissues and a package of wet wipes.

Armitage kept his face hidden while Ben applied pressure to his still-bleeding hip. There was more blood than Ben had expected; it kept welling up for what felt like a long time. The room was silent, except for the occasional quiet creak of the mattress as one of them shifted.

When at last the bleeding stopped, Ben wiped Armitage’s skin clean and placed a small bacta patch over the injection site. Then he gently massaged the area, kneading with one hand to help work the medication into the muscle. The spot was tender and surrounded by bruises, but Armitage always swore it didn’t hurt that badly.

Armitage had endured so much pain in the last five years—too much to give up now, he’d told Ben a few months ago, when they were debating whether they ought to move ahead with this cycle. If he quit at this point, he’d feel that all of this had been for nothing: the invasive tests, and the medications that made him feel terrible, and the procedures that left him sore and disappointed.

But if they succeeded this time—and there was a chance they might—then all of the pains and indignities of this process would have been worth it.

They were in the middle of their third round of IVF. After failing to conceive on their own and exhausting other treatment options over the course of several years, this was the only option left. Though the previous attempts had failed, they had a little hope left: Armitage in the new stimulation protocol they were using this round and Ben in the notion that the universe might finally let them have this thing they wanted so badly. Currently, they were using medication to stimulate Armitage’s ovaries to produce mature eggs, which would then be surgically removed and fertilized outside of his body.

“Okay,” Ben said at last. “Done.”

Armitage took a deep breath before he sat up. In this light, his eyes looked darker than they really were. The thin skin beneath his eyelids seemed almost purple, bruised-looking. “Thank you,” he said, glancing at Ben, and that sounded like an afterthought, too.

In the middle of a cycle, Ben sometimes felt helpless—or maybe just useless. Treatment didn’t shape his days the way it did for Armitage. There were no medications for him to take except for a multivitamin, no uncomfortable procedures except for the awkwardness of depositing his “sample” at the clinic, no side effects that made his body feel like it belonged to someone else.

Ben’s job was to support his mate. To be a source of strength and stability for him, to make things easier, like a good alpha—but, stars, he couldn’t even give an injection right.

He ran a hand along Armitage’s back. “Hey,” he said, in a low voice. “You all right?”

“Never better.” Armitage leaned over and pressed a kiss to the corner of Ben’s mouth, like a promise, but when he drew back, his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Now go get dressed. We don’t want to be late.”

***

In recent years, Han and Leia had taken to hosting a family dinner once or twice a month at their Hanna City apartment. It wasn’t the kind of thing they did when Ben was growing up—more often than not, if Leia was on Chandrila, that meant Han was somewhere in the ass-end of space, doing Force knew what. Likewise, if Han was at home, it was probably because the Senate was in session and Leia was on the other side of the galaxy.

They seemed to reconsider their priorities after the birth of their first grandchild, however. That was when the family dinners started, as well as the holiday gatherings, Life Day being chief among them.

Ben liked to think that they’d learned from the mistakes they’d made with him. Things were better for Rey when she came into their lives, and still better for Rey’s daughters, Nora and Max.

He liked to think that he’d learned, too—that he would be a good father. One day.

Almost as soon as Ben stepped into the apartment, he heard a yell. He turned in time to see six-year-old Nora come barreling in from another room, making a beeline for him. Someone had piled her curly dark hair into a kind of puff on the top of her head. Ben scooped her up without hesitation and was soon swinging her around by her ankles, which had her shrieking in delight.

“Okay, kiddo,” Ben said a minute later, when Nora was breathless from laughter. “Let’s go see what’s for dinner.”

He shifted her onto his hip and carried her into the kitchen. Armitage leaned against the counter near the stove, chatting with Han, who was stirring a pot of what smelled like topato soup. When Ben was growing up, his father was the resident cook in their household—princesses didn’t generally need to cook for themselves, and Han made sure it stayed that way.

At the carved wooden table, Rey sat with three-year-old Max in her lap, Finn beside them.

“Let me guess,” Ben said, looking to his sister. “Mom’s holocomming with one of her esteemed colleagues right about now?”

Rey shrugged. “Last-minute changes to a resolution or something. She promised to keep it quick.”

Ben was a little skeptical. Leia was making an effort to be more present in family life, but she was still a senator and the demands on her time were frequent. Some things never changed.

“I was just telling Armie what a shame it was that he couldn’t join us last week,” Rey went on. She’d invited Armitage on a recent group outing to the Silver Sea while Ben was offworld, but he’d elected not to come, much to her disappointment. “The kids missed their favorite uncle.”

“Hey,” Ben said, feigning offense, which made Rey snicker.

In truth, Armitage was the favorite uncle. He spoiled the kids rotten when they stayed with him and Ben, which made it hard to compete.

Rey had always been fond of Armitage, too. She was the one who introduced him to Ben all those years ago, though she hadn’t intended to play matchmaker. At the time, Armitage worked in a tiny antique store in Hanna City. Printed books were his area of expertise. In her travels throughout the galaxy, Rey had come into possession of a number of ancient Jedi texts; she relied on Armitage to help her properly maintain the fragile, crumbling books so she could study them. When she found out that Ben was courting Armitage, she was annoyed, worried that Ben would screw up and she would lose access to his knowledge and skill.

“I’ve been a bit under the weather,” Armitage said, glancing at Rey. It wasn’t a lie. He was taking a dozen different medications, many of which had unpleasant side effects. Sometimes it was easier to bow out of a social gathering entirely rather than show up feeling terrible or have to make an excuse to spend ten minutes in the ‘fresher administering an injection that had to be done at a certain time.

Nora blinked. “What’s that mean?”

“I was sick,” Armitage explained. He smiled to soften the words. “But I’m feeling better now.”

Ben hoped that was true.

After a while, he set Nora on her feet and watched her scamper into the other room.

“So when are you two going to have some kids?” Finn asked.

Ben hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Behind Finn, at the counter, Armitage looked pained for a second before he managed to school his features into a more neutral expression. “Maybe someday,” Ben said in a noncommittal tone.

The extended family didn’t know that he and Armitage had been struggling to conceive for longer than Nora had been alive. Sometimes Ben wanted to tell them, if only to stop questions like this. But he knew that opening up about their infertility would almost certainly invite other questions that he and Armitage weren’t prepared to answer. How was treatment going? If this round didn’t work, when did they plan to try again? Had they considered adoption?

“Well, don’t wait too long,” Han said, glancing over his shoulder. “None of us are getting any younger.”

Finn nodded. “Yeah—wouldn’t it be nice if our kids could grow up together? You two might want to get on it.”

“Could we please not discuss my brother’s sex life right before we eat?” Rey wrinkled her nose.

Ben was silently grateful.

***

It was almost midnight by the time they said goodnight, and Ben felt exhausted in more ways than one. He normally liked spending time with his family, especially Rey—but sometimes it was hard to be reminded of what he didn’t have.

The drive to their home outside of Emita was long and silent, except for the murmur of the radio. Armitage stared out the window as the speeder rounded a lake, which gleamed like a black mirror in the moonlight. He seemed distracted.

Ben said nothing, just reached across the center console to place a hand on his mate’s thigh.

***

Ben was climbing into bed when Armitage padded barefoot into the room, wrapped in his favorite black robe, hair damp from the shower.

While Armitage changed into his nightclothes, Ben studied him in the low light, taking in the familiar details. He’d mapped out the freckles across Armitage’s shoulders a hundred times, traced the shape of the bond mark near the base of his neck. Armitage had his appendix removed as a teenager; his mother couldn’t afford bacta treatment, so he had a faded scar, a shade darker than the surrounding skin.

“What are you looking at?” Armitage asked, suspicious.

“You,” Ben replied simply. After a decade, Ben still felt like he couldn’t look at Armitage enough.

Armitage tensed a little, as though embarrassed by Ben’s gaze. “Can’t imagine why,” he muttered, pulling on a loose old shirt that belonged to Ben. He often like to be surrounded by his mate’s scent in the middle of a cycle. “Remember when I wasn’t so fat?”

Ben made an effort not to grimace. Armitage routinely gained ten or fifteen pounds during stims. Some of it was from the medication, which made him bloated and irritable. Some of it was due to stress eating. All of it was a source of anxiety, no matter how Ben assured him that it didn’t matter.

After their failed embryo transfer last year, they took a long break from treatment, during which Armitage continued to struggle with his weight. Just when he’d managed to reach his normal weight, they decided to give IVF another try. Now his clothes weren’t fitting right again, and he was demoralized.

“I’ve gained weight, too,” Ben pointed out. Armitage cooked when stressed, falling back on some of his mother’s favorite recipes, and Ben mindlessly ate whatever he made. It was a distraction for him, as well. “What? I have.”

Armitage just rolled his eyes and turned back to the dresser.

Ben got out of bed and went to him, wrapping his arms around Armitage from behind. He could feel the tension in his mate’s body. “Hey,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“I’m sure they didn’t mean anything by it.” Ben could tell that his mate was dwelling on Finn’s and Han’s off-hand comments before dinner. Stars, Ben was still dwelling on them himself. _ None of us are getting any younger. _

“Of course not.” Armitage’s voice was stiff, and so were his shoulders. “But…”

But it was still painful, like accidentally bumping a bruise.

“I know.” Ben pressed a kiss to his cheek, apologetic, and Armitage’s shoulders drooped. He leaned back against Ben with a sigh.

“I keep playing it over in my head,” Armitage said. “It’s ridiculous. I wish I could just—turn off my mind for a while.”

Ben tucked his face against Armitage’s neck, breathing in. “You smell good,” he murmured. Like the soap he’d used as long as Ben had known him and also simply like himself. Ben kissed the corner of his mate’s jaw and felt Armitage relax against him a little more, some of the tension draining out of him.

Armitage hummed quietly when Ben kissed the side of his neck, even tipped his head to the side to give Ben access to his throat. When Ben kissed the bond mark, soft and open-mouthed, Armitage shuddered. Through their mate bond, through the Force, Ben sensed his pleasure at the touch.

Finally, Armitage turned in his arms and kissed Ben with his mouth open.

After a minute, Ben slid his hands onto Armitage’s hips and moved to steer him toward the bed.

Suddenly Armitage froze. “Wait. We can’t,” he said, sounding regretful.

“I know. That’s not what I’m after,” Ben said, and he meant it. Per the doctor’s orders, there could be no penetration during stims. But not everything was forbidden. He kissed Armitage again, gently. “You’re allowed to come. Let me eat you out.”

Armitage grimaced and pulled back. “I can’t,” he said, red-faced, and Ben couldn’t tell if he was embarrassed or frustrated. “It would be—uncomfortable. You remember.”

“Right. Of course.” In truth, Ben hadn’t remembered until Armitage mentioned it. The last time they attempted non-penatrative sex this late into the process, Armitage’s orgasm was accompanied by cramps so intense that he spent the next few hours curled up with a heating pad. It had to do with the medications. Ben felt like an ass. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

“After the retrieval,” Armitage said, halfheartedly. “Maybe.”

“Maybe,” Ben agreed, but they both knew it wouldn’t happen. Armitage would feel bloated and sore for days after the procedure, and even when that passed, he wasn’t likely to be in the mood.

“In the meantime, I could…” Armitage made a gesture that Ben interpreted as a blow job.

Ben blinked in surprise. “No, no,” he said quickly. “It’s fine.”

“Really, I don’t mind—”

“It’s late,” Ben said at last, leaning back a little. “You work tomorrow. Let’s just sleep.”

Armitage looked like he wanted to argue. He seemed to think he was disappointing Ben, but in truth, it wasn’t really sex that Ben wanted in the first place. Intimacy was more like it. He’d just wanted to feel close to his mate. He didn’t know how to explain it to Armitage, however.

They fell asleep on opposite sides of the bed.

***

When Ben and Armitage decided to have a baby, Ben had assumed it would be easy, like it was supposed to be for alpha-omega couples.

But here he was, five years later—sitting in a hard plastic chair in a fertility clinic waiting room, staring at the wall, where holographic posters cycled through a series of canned messages for human omegas and betas.

Ben had already made his “contribution” and handed it off to the clinic staff. In another room, Armitage was under anesthesia for the egg retrieval. The separation chafed, however brief. They would be together soon, when Armitage regained consciousness. But for now, there was nothing Ben could do but wait.

The nearest poster changed again, this time advertising the clinic’s infertility support group, which met once a month. Ben had mentioned it to Armitage once or twice, but Armitage rebuffed the idea without hesitation. He didn’t see what good could come from sharing their “private affairs” with strangers.

Ben thought it might help to spend time with people who knew what they were going through. At least, he was pretty sure it couldn’t hurt. But he couldn’t imagine attending a meeting alone, so he’d never gone.

They’d been married for almost three years when they decided it was time.

Armitage got his hormone implant removed, so his heat cycle would no longer be suppressed. A couple of months later, after he went into heat and it appeared that his body was functioning normally, they were cleared to start trying in earnest.

Armitage tracked his cycle to get an idea of when he would be fertile, but there was no sense of urgency. It would happen in due time. They had sex even when he wasn’t in heat, and thus unlikely to conceive, on the off chance that it worked: before Armitage left for work in the morning, in the shower together at night, a few times in the back of their speeder on a wild whim.

In the beginning, it was fun: an excuse to make love, more thrilling now that they were potentially creating a new life together. Years ago, when Ben imagined what it might be like to have a mate, he imagined something much like this.

The frequency of an omega’s heat corresponded to its length. Twenty-four to forty-eight hours was considered normal, though some omegas had heats that were longer or shorter. Because Armitage’s tended to be on the shorter side, about a day from start to finish, he expected to have a monthly heat.

But his heats were irregular, which made them hard to plan around. His estrus cycle sometimes lasted six or eight weeks from start to finish, instead of the expected four. Several times, Ben was offworld when Armitage’s heat began unexpectedly, so they missed a chance and had to wait for another precious twenty-four-hour window.

Ben wasn’t especially worried. After years of suppressants, there was bound to be an adjustment period for Armitage while his hormones evened out. Statistically, he’d read, eighty percent of humans using timed intercourse conceived within six months. For healthy alpha-omega couples, the odds were even better—many conceived after just one or two cycles. They would get pregnant soon.

Six months came and went. They were both disappointed, but Ben still wasn’t concerned. He remembered joking that they were doing it wrong and should try harder.

Armitage didn’t laugh. Instead, he got more serious. He began to chart his basal body temperature each morning and monitored his cycle even more closely than before, logging any twinge that could be a symptom of impending heat, in the hopes that he could better predict when he would be fertile. With each month that passed, he was increasingly dismayed by negative pregnancy tests. Ben tried to reassure him, but it didn’t help much.

Ten months after Armitage’s first heat, Ben began to share his mate’s concerns. The long-ago human biology classes he took as a teenager made it sound like an alpha could impregnate an omega just by looking too closely. It wasn’t supposed to take this long, he suspected.

After a full year, they had nothing to show for their efforts. That was when they sought medical advice for the first time. In hindsight, Ben sometimes wished they’d gone sooner. Maybe it would’ve made a difference.

Ben remembered how embarrassed he was just to fill out the initial forms before their first appointment with a reproductive endocrinologist. The back of his neck had prickled with heat as he answered some of the more personal questions: Did he knot successfully during intercourse? What was the approximate size of his knot? How long did it last, on average? Approximately how many times did he knot his mate during a heat?

Somehow more humiliating was the fact that Armitage knew most of this information off the top of his head, like he’d mentally appraised Ben’s performance in bed over the past year.

Still, the process was much harder on Armitage than it was on Ben. He required a series of invasive scans and other tests to determine whether his uterus was abnormally shaped, or his tubes were blocked, or there was some other obvious problem.

There was no simple answer. Ben’s sperm count was normal, and so was Armitage’s reproductive anatomy. Despite his irregular heats, his hormone levels weren’t especially concerning. On paper, everything looked good. The diagnosis of “unexplained infertility” was frustratingly vague.

The specialist eventually recommended medication to regulate Armitage’s heats and help him ovulate. The idea was to stimulate his ovaries into producing more than one egg per cycle, thus increasing their chances of conceiving. It was also recommended that Ben knot Armitage more frequently during heat if possible, which was not something Ben had ever imagined he would have to be told.

At that point, they were optimistic; medication seemed like a simple solution. Sure enough, Armitage’s heats came like clockwork after that, and Ben made sure he was planetside for each one, redoubling his efforts. But six months later, Armitage still wasn’t pregnant.

Intrauterine insemination was recommended at that point. The treatment involved placing sperm directly inside the uterus using a thin catheter. Armitage was ready for the next step, but Ben dragged his heels.

While Armitage had spent months mentally preparing for the possibility that intercourse might not work for them, Ben was caught off-guard. He’d always imagined that they would conceive their children the old-fashioned way—taken it for granted, in fact. Now the reality of the situation had finally hit.

There was something disquieting, even demoralizing, about the idea of masturbating into a cup so that someone else could impregnate his husband for him. It seemed so impersonal. Though he hated to admit it, his pride was wounded. Some alpha he turned out to be.

But he wanted a child as badly as Armitage did, and he understood now that they wouldn’t be able to conceive without help. He tried to set aside his assumptions about how they would build their family so the two of them could move forward.

When the time came, it was less strange than he’d imagined to hold Armitage’s hand during the procedure. They exchanged a glance as the doctor worked, smiling guardedly at each other, and Ben found himself feeling hopeful. He brought Armitage’s hand to his mouth and kissed his knuckles. Maybe it wasn’t happening the way he’d imagined, but they were still in this together.

The IUI cycle failed. So did the next one, and the one after that. When they had no successes after four attempts, it was time to make another decision.

Given the unexplained nature of their infertility, it appeared that in vitro fertilization would give them the best shot. This treatment would be lengthier and more demanding than the others—but Armitage didn’t want to give up as long as there was a chance, and despite his reservations, neither did Ben.

Their first IVF cycle yielded just two embryos, fewer than expected. They opted to transfer one and freeze the other, ideally to be used when they wanted a sibling for the child they hoped to conceive. But, of course, the transfer didn’t take—and when they attempted to use the other embryo, it didn’t survive the thawing process. They would have to start over from scratch.

It was a difficult blow, but Armitage remained hopeful. The first round of IVF was diagnostic for most people, he’d told Ben. Now that they had an idea of how his body responded to the treatment, they could make adjustments and have better luck next time. He seemed so confident that Ben couldn’t help but share in it.

The second round resulted in four embryos. This time, they opted for genetic testing; there was no point in transferring an embryo that was incompatible with life and could not possibly result in a child. To their surprise, only one embryo turned out to be genetically normal. It was another disappointment, but not an insurmountable one.

That transfer failed, too. They were both devastated, though Armitage tried to hide it, as if acknowledging his grief would make it more real.

Nora was born around the time Ben and Armitage first decided to start trying. Ben remembered holding his niece for the first time and thinking that, in a year or so, he and Armitage would have a baby of their own. That didn’t happen, of course, and he adjusted his expectations. Next year, he assured himself. Or the year after that. Or the year after that.

Ben and Armitage had always talked about having a big family—three children, maybe four. Now it seemed like it would take a miracle just to have one.

They took a long break after the second failed transfer, almost a year, to get their heads on straight and consider how far they were willing to go.

In the end, it was biology that spurred them into another attempt. Armitage would be thirty-eight in a few months, and the chances of him getting pregnant using his own eggs decreased each year. They couldn’t afford to wait, not while there was still a possibility that they might succeed.

Which brought them back to the clinic once again.

Sometimes Ben felt like his life had become one endless waiting room.

***

Eventually, Ben was allowed into the curtained-off recovery area to see his mate.

Armitage lay in a narrow bed, eyes shut, a white sheet pulled up to his chest. He looked pale and washed-out under the fluorescent lights. His eyes were closed, as though asleep, but his eyelids fluttered a little as Ben approached the bed—probably catching his scent.

“Hey,” Ben said softly. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know,” Armitage responded, without opening his eyes. His voice was faint, like he wasn’t fully awake. Ben knew from experience that he would be out of it for a few hours. Even after the grogginess wore off, he would be bloated and uncomfortable for a couple of days.

“Did you hear how many eggs they got?”

“Twelve,” Armitage mumbled unhappily. “Less than we thought.”

Ben tried not to grimace. Based on this week’s scans, they went into the procedure expecting nineteen eggs. Sometimes, however, follicles that looked promising on a scan turned out to be empty or fluid-filled cysts. Ben reminded himself that the number of eggs retrieved mattered less than the quality of those eggs—but it was hard not to feel disappointed.

It was especially frustrating for Armitage when the results were different than expected. To him, bad luck wasn’t a sufficient explanation for why a certain protocol hadn’t worked; he tended to blame himself for what he viewed as a failure of his body.

“That’s not so bad,” Ben told him, in what he hoped was an encouraging tone. “Feeling any pain?”

Armitage’s mouth turned down at the corners. “I have to pee,” he said sadly. His eyes were still closed. “But I’m so tired.”

That made Ben smile a little, despite himself. “You can pee soon,” he promised.

***

Armitage’s feet were in the stirrups; a sheet was draped over his knees, like a tent, to preserve his dignity, though Armitage sometimes said—only half kidding—that he had none left. The procedure room was darkened, except for a white light strategically positioned between his legs, so Dr. Kalonia could see what she was doing.

A human woman about Leia’s age, Kalonia had been Armitage’s primary doctor since they first sought treatment at this clinic. Today, she would perform the embryo transfer.

“Just about there…” Kalonia’s mouth and nose were covered by a surgical mask, and her dark eyes were trained on the holoemitter set up near the bed where Armitage was laid out. The holoemitter was connected to a small monitor attached to Armitage’s lower belly and projected the inside of his uterus: blue-tinged, pulsing softly. She was using the hologram to carefully position the catheter she’d just inserted into his uterus. “All right. Here we go.”

“Here we go,” Armitage echoed, briefly closing his eyes, as though pained. He sounded calmer than he really felt—sitting beside him, Ben could sense his pulse, as well as the tension in his body. He was excited, Ben knew. But he was also afraid. Every attempt put him at risk for more heartache.

Ben squeezed Armitage’s hand. Armitage squeezed back, which Ben hoped meant he was all right.

The last two weeks seemed to last forever. After the egg retrieval, there was even more waiting to do—this time, to see how many eggs fertilized successfully, how many of those developed, and how many of those turned out to be genetically normal. In the end, they were left with two embryos, both of only average quality.

When they got the news, Armitage was bitterly disappointed; he’d hoped for more embryos, or at least better quality. Ben reminded him that it only took one, but his mate did not seem especially comforted.

Under the circumstances, Kalonia suggested that they considering transferring both embryos at the same time, rather than using one now and freezing the other for a future cycle. They spent a few days weighing the pros and cons of this approach.

There was some research to suggest that transferring two average-quality embryos at once increased the chance that one of them would stick. On the other hand, if this transfer didn’t work, they would have to go through the entire ordeal again, from the beginning, just to have another shot. There was something to be said for having another embryo in reserve.

Naturally, transferring two embryos also increased the possibility of twins. Though Kalonia thought it was unlikely that they would conceive multiples, she advised that they only transfer as many as Armitage was willing to carry.

Despite the risks that came with multiples, Armitage admitted to Ben that he was not opposed to the idea of having twins. They had the resources to care for two children, and they’d always wanted more than one, anyway. Ben felt the same way—however many children the Force saw fit to give them, he would be happy.

Now they were moments away from transferring both embryos.

“Hey,” Ben murmured.

Armitage looked up at him at last. The soft blue glow of the hologram fell across his face. “Yes?”

“Love you.” Ben mouthed the words, but he knew from Armitage’s small smile that he was understood. When he lifted Armitage’s hand to his mouth, his mate’s wedding band caught the light.

“Love you,” Armitage mouthed back, then turned back to look at the hologram.

The thin catheter was visible, as were the tiny shapes of the embryos moving through it: two white specks in a dark sea, the most fragile things Ben could imagine.

Normally, he would watch the whole process. But this time, he found himself studying his mate instead. Armitage looked grim, his mouth pressed into a thin line. The hologram’s blue-tinged light was reflected in his eyes, which Ben could see tracking the movement of the embryos—their twins, potentially—through the catheter.

Ben stroked his mate’s hair with one hand, silently hoping.

***

Their bedroom was dim, drapes closed against the late afternoon sun. The only light came from the glow of the holoset, a bluish light that flickered across Ben and Armitage as they lay curled together under a blanket.

Upon returning home after the transfer, Armitage was supposed to take it easy for a while. He’d been advised to rest in bed as much as possible—and though he always complied with the doctor’s orders, this period was usually far from restful for him. Armitage hated being confined to bed like an invalid. He was also acutely aware of his own body, paranoid that he would shift the wrong way and somehow stop an embryo from implanting.

Ben did his best to provide distractions. He brought Armitage food and water and holobooks, made sure his datapad charger was within reach, turned on his favorite holos and suggested they watch together.

This time, it was “True Tales of the Ancient Republic, Episode XXIV: Death on the Rim,” a cheesy adventure holodrama that aired in 114BBY. Armitage loved the old Novan Nune holos; apparently he used to watch them as a child, late at night, when his mother was at work and he had no one else to keep him company.

But the familiar holo didn’t seem to be helping as much as it usually did. Though his eyes were on the projection, Armitage’s mind seemed to be elsewhere.

“Feeling all right?” Ben spoke in a quiet voice, though the volume was low.

“Of course,” Armitage said vaguely.

Ben ran a hand along his mate’s side. “I can get you something, if—”

“I’m all right, Ben. I don’t need anything.” In the light of the holoset, Armitage’s face looked pale. “I’m just—tired, that’s all.”

With two embryos in his uterus, Armitage was now, as they sometimes commented after a transfer, “pregnant until proven otherwise.” It didn’t have quite the same ring to it anymore—not after so many failures. They’d been in this position before. Each time, it ended in heartbreak. But it was no good to dwell on that now.

“Maybe we’ll get twins,” Ben murmured, into Armitage’s hair. He knew his mate well enough to know where his mind had wandered.

Armitage shushed him.

“Or maybe we’ll get twins, and then they’ll both split, and we’ll get quadruplets.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Armitage said, lightly smacking Ben’s arm. Then he sighed through his nose and slumped further into the pillows he was reclining against. “I just want one.”

Ben knew what Armitage was thinking, because he was thinking it, too: _ Is that so much to ask? _

Stars, he hoped not.

Years ago, when Ben dreamed about parenthood, he always fantasized about the mundane things: dropping a child off at school and picking them up in the afternoons. Cooking breakfast on the weekend while his family was still in bed. Making holidays special and telling little red-haired children about a planet that was beautiful and green and gone.

He wanted to teach their children how to swim, and use a lightsaber, and pilot a speeder. He wanted to braid their hair in the traditional styles. He wanted to share all the good things in life that his parents had shared with him and more.

But those simple things seemed almost beyond reach. Thinking of them pained him a little, like pressing on a bruise.

It was much the same for Armitage, he knew. There was a time, ages ago now, when they went into shops together and Armitage looked at baby clothes with interest. Now he just glanced at them with longing before he turned his face away.

When talking about the future, they used to say, “When we have a baby…”

Now the word was “if.”

“Ben,” Armitage said after a while. “If it doesn’t take this time…”

“Let’s not talk about that right now.” Ben didn’t even want to think of the possibility. Not yet.

“But—”

Gently, Ben shushed him. “You’re supposed to relax,” he said, and pressed a kiss to his mate’s cheek. “Just—lie there and think pregnant thoughts.”

That earned him a quiet laugh. When Ben eased closer, Armitage leaned into him and seemed to relax somewhat.

He fell asleep against Ben’s shoulder before the end credits rolled.

***

The waiting really did seem endless.

After the transfer, it would be two weeks before they knew if Armitage was pregnant or not. This fourteen-day stretch was always the hardest to get through—unbearable, almost. Armitage generally threw himself into work as a distraction, while Ben often found himself cleaning the house just to keep his hands occupied. At night, they cooked dinner together, and watched holos, and held each other in bed because nothing more intimate was allowed. Sometimes Ben could talk Armitage into meditating for a while, if he seemed especially anxious. Sometimes it even seemed to help.

Six days in, Ben’s comm chimed. A job offer, he saw. An interesting one that would take him away from Chandrila.

“I’m not going,” Ben said over dinner that night. “They can find someone else to make the run.”

Armitage paused as he lifted a glass to his mouth, eyebrows arched. “I suppose you’ll give them a reference for another pilot who can smuggle a pair of exoboars from here to the Esstran sector?” he asked.

He had a point, even if Ben was reluctant to admit it. There was no one else who could handle this job on such short notice.

After washing out of Jedi training at nineteen, Ben soon realized that he wasn’t good at much except for flying. With few other options, he took a job with Han’s shipping company, hauling cargo across the galaxy, sometimes spending days or weeks alone on his ship. It gave him plenty of time to reflect.

The future Ben had always envisioned—the role everyone had expected him to fill, since he was a small child just beginning to experiment with the Force—had been ripped from his hands. For the first time, there was no clear path ahead of him. Who was he, if not a Jedi? His life seemed pointless. Empty. He had never felt more lost.

It was Han who saved him from spinning out of control.

Han Solo’s smuggling days were long behind him. He was a respectable businessman now. His company didn’t handle the kind of cargo that couldn’t show up on official manifests. But if someone had need of such services and came to him discreetly—well, maybe he knew a pilot who would be interested in the job.

A pilot who never showed his face and who seemed to have a preternatural sense for danger. A pilot who went by the name of Kylo Ren.

The first few jobs Han pitched his way seemed to bring him back to life. Here was the adventure Ben had craved. The sense of purpose. He would never be a Jedi—but he would be something just as real.

Ben still worked for Han’s company, off and on, when his father needed more hands on deck. But Kylo did the real work. For the most part, their family politely pretended not to know. Armitage was the only person he shared all the details with—the only person he trusted to know where he was going, always.

“It’ll take a week to get there and come back,” Ben said, looking across the table at his mate. “I should be here with you.”

An unreadable expression flickered across Armitage’s face. “You don’t have to be trapped on Chandrila just because I am,” he said.

Ben made an effort not to grimace. “Where’s this coming from?” he asked, because he couldn’t truthfully say that Armitage wasn’t trapped. He felt guilty, sometimes, that his work took him away from this planet regularly when things were so different for his mate.

Armitage hadn’t been offworld in years—not since they were preparing for their first IUI. Because they were often in the middle of treatment, he needed to remain close to the clinic for monitoring and for procedures. Even when they weren’t in active treatment, there were many worlds Armitage simply could not visit as long as they were planning to conceive, for fear of picking up some germ or parasite that would be harmful to a potential baby.

“We both know you don’t do well sitting on your hands, waiting for something to happen,” Armitage said with a shrug. He twisted the handle of his fork between his fingers. “And I don’t want you to put your whole life on hold because of this.”

_ You are my whole life, _ Ben wanted to say.

Instead, he said, “Being with you doesn’t make me feel trapped. You know that, right?”

Armitage swallowed. “Nothing’s going to change while you’re offworld,” he said. “It’s only a few days. You being here physically doesn’t make a difference.”

“Does it make a difference to you?” Ben asked quietly.

For a moment, Armitage seemed thrown by the question. “Of course,” he said at last. “But all the same—you should go.”

Suddenly, the space between them seemed bigger than it was a moment ago. Ben didn’t think he could reach across it.

They finished the meal in silence.

***

Ben returned to Chandrila on a cloudy Taungsday, in the middle of the afternoon, two days later than he’d planned. He’d practically raced back from the spaceport, anxious to be home, at his mate’s side again.

He was surprised to see Armitage’s speeder parked in the shade of the garren trees that surrounded their house. He’d let Armitage know when he expected to land, but his mate was usually at the shop around this time. Ben had idly imagined cooking dinner for the two of them, a little surprise for Armitage after a long day of work.

“I’m home,” Ben called as he came through the door, pausing to toe off his boots. (It took a couple of years after they were married, but Armitage did eventually manage to train him not to track mud across their floors.)

“I’m in here.” Armitage’s voice floated out from the kitchen. Was he cooking, hours before a regular mealtime? That was potentially a bad sign—it often meant that Armitage was worried about something, or that he’d received bad news.

Ben hurried into the kitchen. Sure enough, Armitage was at the counter, busy with a mixing bowl, surrounded by what looked like the ingredients for quinberry cakes. But he didn’t seem unhappy, not when Ben reached out cautiously with the Force to gauge his mood. He glanced over his shoulder at Ben. “What’s that look for?” he asked.

“Nothing. I didn’t expect to see you until tonight, that’s all,” Ben replied. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I wanted to be here when you got home,” Armitage replied. “So I left Dopheld in charge and called it a day. Is that such a shock?”

“A little, yeah,” Ben said with a laugh, crossing to the counter. His mate was a bit of a control freak—it was unlike him to leave one of his employees in charge if he didn’t have to. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Armitage hummed. “Package came for you today,” he said, while Ben wrapped an arm around him from behind, pulling him against his chest.

“Yeah?” Ben tried to remember if he’d ordered an item recently. Nothing came to mind. “What was it?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t open it. I left it in the sitting room.”

Ben pressed a kiss to Armitage’s cheek and then went in search of the package. He found it on the coffee table: a small, flat box. It was unlabeled. He sat on the couch to unwrap the plain brown paper, then opened the box and set the lid aside.

Nestled in frothy white tissue was what appeared to be a folded shirt in pale yellow. But when he lifted it out of the box, he realized it was a onesie.

Tucked underneath the onesie was a pregnancy test, the kind that took a drop of blood. Ben picked it up, cautiously, like it would shatter in his hand. He had never actually seen a positive pregnancy test in his life, only squinted hopefully at the countless negative ones Armitage presented to him, searching for some faint sign.

But the digital readout was clear. It said “PREGNANT” in Aurebesh letters.

For a moment, Ben held an item in each hand, looking between them. Then he called, “Armie?”

“Yes?”

“Is this for real?”

Armitage appeared in the doorway to the kitchen; he looked like he was struggling to suppress a smile. “I had my beta test yesterday. The clinic called with the results this morning.” He let himself smile then, broadly enough that the corners of his eyes crinkled. “You’re going to be a dad.”

“And you didn’t comm me?” The words spilled out of Ben’s mouth before he had a chance to really consider them.

“I wanted to make it special for you! And—I know it’s ridiculous, but I almost didn’t believe it myself,” Armitage admitted. “I wanted to be able to show you something real. So I took some tests, and—here, hold on—” Crossing the room, he reached into his pocket and withdrew three more pregnancy tests. He stood in front of the couch and pressed them anxiously into Ben’s hands. “Look.”

Ben looked. The tests were all positive.

Obviously, undeniably positive.

Ben stared at the tests. His hands were shaking. He couldn’t speak.

“Are you…” Armitage hesitated. He cleared his throat. “Ben, are you not happy?”

That snapped Ben out of his daze. He looked up into his husband’s face and saw that Armitage looked pale and worried. He had expected a response of some kind, one Ben was initially too stunned to give him.

“Are you kidding?” Ben’s voice cracked, his throat suddenly tight. It was beginning to sink in now. A huffing laugh escaped him. “This is the happiest day of my life.” He dropped the tests onto the cushion as he stood and pulled Armitage into his arms. “How many tests did you take?”

“Only six. I was paranoid I was getting false positives,” Armitage said, wrapping his arms around Ben in return. This close, Ben could feel his mate’s heart pounding through his chest, rabbit-fast. Weeks from now, Ben thought dizzily, he would probably be able to sense the baby’s heartbeat, too. “It didn’t seem possible. I kept thinking the next one would be negative. All the fingers on my left hand are bruised from sticking them—”

Ben kissed his temple. “I can’t believe it.”

“I know.” Armitage pressed his face into Ben’s shoulder, breathing in deeply. “After all this time…”

“No—I can’t believe you took that many tests, babe.”

Armitage sputtered a laugh—and then they were laughing together, breathless, clinging to each other. Ben felt his eyes welling up, even as he smiled, but it wasn’t a bad thing. He let the tears come. He heard Armitage sniff, felt his shoulders hitch with little sobs: not pained, but relieved.

Eventually, Ben drew back enough to see Armitage’s face. “You’re pregnant,” he said, carefully wrapping his mouth around the words. Sometimes he wondered if he’d ever get to say them.

“Yes,” Armitage said, smiling, wiping at his eyes with one hand.

“We’re having a baby.”

Armitage beamed at him. “We are.”

Cupping his jaw, Ben leaned in to kiss him: his forehead, his tear-damp cheeks, the bridge of his nose. “I can’t wait to tell my family,” he said, before he pressed a kiss to Armitage’s lips. “They’ll be so excited. Rey’s going to lose her mind—”

Armitage pulled back, blinking. “It’s a bit early to be making announcements, don’t you think?”

“Not really.” In fact, the thought hadn’t crossed Ben’s mind. He lowered his hands. “When did you think we would tell them?”

“Well—twelve weeks is standard. After the first trimester.”

That was something like eight weeks from now. Ben could scarcely imagine keeping such big news for that long—he’d burst out of his skin. “Armie…”

“I would feel better if we keep it to ourselves for now,” Armitage said. He took both of Ben’s hands and gave him an imploring look. “Just until things are more—certain.”

“Certain?”

“I don’t mean to be a pessimist. I just…” Armitage hesitated. Then he guided one of Ben’s hands to his stomach and lowered his voice. “I want this to be ours for a little while, before it’s everyone’s.”

Armitage had always been guarded, protective of their privacy through all their struggles and failures. Ben hadn’t realized he would be equally secretive when it came to their success, as if sharing their happiness would somehow diminish it. In truth, Ben didn’t fully understand where he was coming from. But the last thing Armitage needed right now was another source of stress.

Ben sighed, but he smiled a little to soften it. “If that’s what you want,” he said, keeping his hand pressed to Armitage’s belly, “then I can wait.”

***

Armitage’s hormone levels were rising appropriately, according to follow-up blood tests—but they had to wait two more weeks after the initial positive result to have an ultrasound, which would give them a better idea of the situation. In the meantime, Armitage continued to take medication to help his body maintain the pregnancy.

That wait was even harder to endure than Ben had imagined, even worse than post-transfer limbo. Some of it stemmed from the old fear that this wouldn’t last, that something would go wrong. It all seemed so fragile at this stage.

But for the first time in ages, when he sat in the clinic’s waiting room with Armitage before their appointment, he felt excitement, too.

When the time came, Armitage studied the ceiling while Kalonia passed a handheld ultrasounder over his stomach; her eyes were focused on a small screen that she’d turned away from them. Armitage gripped Ben’s hand, breathing through his nose, as though bracing himself for something. Ben leaned close, knowing that Armitage would be comforted by his mate’s scent.

At last, Kalonia turned the screen around. “There’s your baby,” she said.

It looked so small, a glowing smudge in a dark sea, not yet recognizably human. Ben knew it was only a few millimeters from end to end, and yet it seemed to encompass his whole world.

Ben glanced at Kalonia. “Just one?”

She nodded, and Ben felt Armitage let out a relieved breath. He would’ve been grateful for twins, Ben knew, but it would’ve been harder on his body and riskier for the babies. One child was plenty.

“Does it look healthy?” Armitage asked.

“Oh, yes. Baby’s measuring six weeks and three days, right on track. And look here—” She pointed to a small, steady flutter. “We’ve got a nice, strong heartbeat.”

Ben’s own heart stumbled. “Oh, wow,” he breathed, a smile spreading across his face as he leaned forward to get a better look. “Armie—”

Eyes shiny, Armitage studied the display. “How many beats per minute?”

“A hundred and ten or so. Perfectly normal. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes,” Ben said immediately.

Beside him, Armitage tensed, gripping Ben’s hand a little tighter. It was only when he nodded that Kalonia adjusted the settings again.

A new sound filled the room: a low, rhythmic whooshing.

“That’s the baby?” Armitage asked in a quiet voice.

“It is,” Kalonia told him.

“Oh.” Armitage’s free hand came up to cover his mouth. He never took his eyes off the glowing display.

“You all right?” Ben murmured.

Armitage managed a nod, one hand still clamped over his mouth. His eyes looked wet, like he was holding back tears. “Yes,” he said, through his fingers. “Yes, I just—I never thought—”

He broke off, but Ben heard what he didn’t say: _ I never thought this would happen. _

But it was happening—years later than they’d imagined, yes, but happening all the same.

Ben was similarly amazed. After so many failed treatments, he’d almost given up hope that they would ever reach this point—and yet, here they were, listening to their baby’s heartbeat. Seeing a positive test was one thing; seeing the steady flicker of a newly-formed heart was another.

“This is real,” Ben said quietly, smiling at his mate.

“Oh, Ben—” A sound like a sob escaped Armitage, but he was smiling, too. He squeezed Ben’s hand again, as if to say he was all right.

***

After the appointment, they were given a copy of the ultrasound, stored on a wafer-thin datachip. The first thing Ben did upon arriving home was load the chip into a magnetic holophoto frame and put it on the fridge, between the grocery list and appointment calendar, which was still busy. (Armitage’s doctor wanted to see him weekly for now, but if all went well, he would soon “graduate” to a regular OB—like any other omega. Ben knew how much his mate looked forward to that day.)

“Ben,” Armitage said slowly, when he saw what Ben was doing.

“What?”

“If your sister drops by unannounced, you’d better remember to put that away.”

“I will. But for now, I think this is a good place for it.”

Armitage hummed. Then he reached around Ben to straighten the frame. “I suppose it is,” he said, an unmistakable fondness in his voice.

Ben wrapped an arm around his waist, and Armitage leaned into him as they stood in their kitchen, studying the image of a little glowing smudge.

***

Whenever Ben saw Rey in the following weeks, or spoke to Han, or answered a holocomm from Leia, he had to suppress the impulse to tell them the news.

It was hard to contain himself, but he had promised. Besides, there was also something sweet about sharing this with only his mate, at least for now—exchanging little touches and glances that had meaning just for them. He reminded himself to savor this time while it lasted.

The next time they went to dinner with Ben’s family, three weeks after the ultrasound, at least they didn’t have to make excuses for why Armitage wasn’t drinking the Chandrilan Blue that Han had chosen to pair with the meal. Armitage stopped drinking about four years ago—back when they still thought they might conceive during any given heat—claiming to be on a health kick. After that, he never got back into the habit; it seemed easier for him not to drink at all, since they were so frequently in the middle of treatment.

“Are you feeling all right, Armie?” Rey asked at one point, peering across the table at him.

“I beg your pardon?” Armitage glanced up.

“You’ve barely touched your food.” She sounded more concerned than accusing.

Armitage raised his eyebrows. “Is that your way of asking if you can have the rest?”

“What—” Rey said, a little scandalized, even as Han huffed a laugh.

In truth, Armitage had been more than a little run-down in recent weeks. He often woke up nauseated and his queasiness persisted throughout the day. Ben had been cooking bland meals for him and keeping the cupboards well-stocked with ginger tea, which seemed to help the morning sickness a bit—but Armitage was still put off my certain scents, including the admittedly strong smell of the stewed bhillen Han had served tonight. For twenty minutes, Armitage had been pushing the food around his dish to make it look like he’d eaten more than he had. Ben had noticed, but he hadn’t thought Rey would.

“You do look tired,” Leia commented, from her seat at the head of the table.

“He looks fine, Mom,” Ben said immediately. He was a little surprised by his own defensiveness. She would probably feel embarrassed in a few weeks, he thought, when she realized Armitage had seemed poorly because he was carrying her grandchild.

Leia lifted her wine glass. “I’m just making an observation,” she said mildly.

“I’ve been working late this week, that’s all,” Armitage replied. As if to prove his words, he picked up his fork again and took a bite of his food; Ben could almost sense his mate’s gorge rising, but Armitage somehow managed to push past the feeling.

“Well, I hope you’re not getting sick again,” Rey went on. “Because Poe’s got some leave coming up, and he’s going to spend a few days on Chandrila.”

“Is he?” Ben asked. Stationed on the military base on Mirren Prime, Poe didn’t get out to Chandrila as often as he used to, in the days before he was a commander in the New Republic Defense Fleet. “This is the first I’ve heard about it.”

“We only found out last night. I’m sure he’ll be desperate to see everyone,” Rey said blithely. “It’s been ages.”

“I’m sure,” Armitage echoed, without enthusiasm.

Though Ben usually looked forward to Poe’s visits, Armitage did not. There was always the potential for disaster when they were in a room together.

Poe was a natural tease, and Armitage responded poorly to any kind of ribbing, which only made Poe more inclined to poke fun at him. Because he and Ben practically grew up together, Poe had an easy closeness with Ben’s family that Armitage envied. Worst of all, he and Ben had also dated—briefly and casually—when Ben was nineteen and Poe was just embarking on his career as a pilot. There were no lingering feelings, Ben assured his mate, but Armitage remained put off by the knowledge.

“We’ll try to keep our schedules clear,” Ben said, already cooking up excuses for why they wouldn’t be able to make it. Normally he would encourage Armitage to get along with Poe—but his mate was in a delicate condition, and Ben didn’t want to stress him unduly. He nudged Armitage’s foot under the table, in the hopes that Armitage would catch his meaning.

Armitage nudged back.

***

Before long, another job offer came in, one that would take Ben away from Chandrila. He was even less inclined to leave this time than before, but Armitage encouraged him to go, on the grounds that Ben should get his fill of travel before the baby came.

“We’ll be here when you get back,” Armitage assured him.

That brought a smile to Ben’s face—hearing his mate refer to himself and their baby as “we.”

After some discussion, he agreed to take the job. But he also planned to holocomm Armitage at least once per cycle while he was offworld, not wanting his mate to feel completely alone, even if they weren’t together physically.

***

Time was a funny thing in space—relative. With a few systems between them, they were operating on different schedules. Ben commed around the same time each cycle, but Armitage might answer just as he was getting around for bed, or in the middle of the afternoon, or while he was washing up after breakfast.

Sometimes it was hard to establish a connection in hyperspace; Armitage’s blue-tinged hologram stuttered and blinked when the connection was weak, and his voice sounded choppy. But Ben was just pleased to see him at all.

“How’s my baby?” Ben asked one night, when he was in orbit around the far-flung moon where he would soon deliver cargo he’d been hired to transport.

Armitage rolled his eyes a little, but even through the static, Ben could see him smiling. “Demanding,” he said. “It hasn’t let me eat anything but juicemelon pops all day.”

“I thought you hated juicemelon.”

“I do,” Armitage said with a sigh.

“And I thought I bought those pops for me.”

“You’ll have to pick up more, I’m afraid.”

Ben smiled. “I guess I can do that.”

***

Before leaving this moon, Ben had to refuel for the journey home. The process would take about two hours, so while his ship was hooked up to the fueler and supervised by droids, he ventured into the port. The crowds were thick, and the alleys were lined with food stalls and rows of shops selling supplies and trinkets, each one designed to entice travelers.

Ben lingered in front of a tiny shop selling artisan goods: carved wooden dice, painted sabacc cards, decorative figures made of clay and blown glass. Many of the crafts on display were toys and little games.

The shopkeeper, an older-looking Twi’lek woman wearing delicate bronze rings on her lekku, smiled when she caught him looking. “Looking for a souvenir to take home?” she asked. Her voice was clear and pleasant. “Or maybe something to keep you occupied on the trip?”

Ben glanced at her sidelong. “Is it that obvious I’m a tourist?”

“It is now. Your accent,” she explained.

“Ah.” Finally, Ben ventured into the shop, which was lit from within by small amber-colored lamps. He picked up a stuffed tooka from a basket full of similar toys. It looked handmade, with tight stitching. He wondered if the shopkeeper made all these items herself or if she simply sold them.

“Do you have children?” the Twi’lek asked, as he turned the stuffed toy over in his hands.

For a second, Ben hesitated, unsure of what to say. He was so used to talking around the issue, deflecting and changing the subject. “My mate is expecting,” he said finally. “It’s our first.”

When he spoke the words aloud, it was like letting out a breath he’d been holding for too long. It felt good to tell someone—just once, just here, to someone he’d never see again. Sometimes strangers made the best confidants.

“Congratulations. You must be very happy,” the Twi’lek said, and Ben knew it was just small-talk, standard politeness to a potential customer—but it was also true.

“We are,” Ben said. Studying the stuffed tooka still in his hand, Ben could almost see it being dragged around by a toddler or sitting on an older child’s bed, propped up against the pillows. He smiled a little at the thought, then looked to the shopkeeper. “How much?”

***

The following cycle, while Ben was en route to Chandrila, Armitage didn’t answer his comm. That was unusual for him—he’d picked up every other time. Ben knew he was probably just busy at work, or possibly driving home, or otherwise engaged. But the empty ringing of the comm was unsettling.

He had a bad feeling about this.

He tried to shake it off—there was no point speculating, probably over nothing. Armitage would surely return his comm soon. In the meantime, he should focus on other tasks, like checking the nav chart again just to give him something to do with his hands, or placing the stuffed tooka on the console in the cockpit because it felt mean to cram it into a bag.

It was hours before his comm buzzed in his pocket. Ben fumbled for the device, answering on the third ring. Armitage materialized in front of him, a flickering hologram.

“Hey,” Ben said, feeling strangely uncertain now that he was looking at Armitage. The connection was great, but he could still see the tightness around his mate’s mouth.

“Is it late where you are?” Armitage asked.

“No, no, it’s early.” In truth, he wasn’t sure what time it was, relatively speaking. It didn’t matter—he would’ve answered at any hour. “How are you?”

“Fine. A little tired. I’m sorry I missed your comm, I was caught up at work—”

“That’s okay,” Ben assured him. The important thing was that they were connected now. He paused, squinting as he studied the hologram. “Is that my shirt?”

“Hmm? Oh—yes.” Armitage coughed a little, as though embarrassed. “I’ve been… borrowing some of your things. They smell like you. It helps me sleep.”

Ben smiled faintly. “You can’t sleep without me?”

“I’m used to you,” Armitage replied, lifting his chin a little. “You keep the bed warm.”

“So I’m a bed-warmer to you, is that it?” Ben raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, stop that. You know what you are to me.”

“Yeah, I know.” In truth, Ben sympathized. After sharing a bed with his mate for so many years, it was sometimes hard for him to drift off without Armitage beside him. Old habits. “You sure you’re doing okay? Both of you?”

Armitage hesitated—or maybe there was a delay. “I’m fine,” he said after a moment, with a tense smile. “Just come home soon.”

***

Armitage’s speeder was gone when Ben came home—unsurprising, since it was the middle of the afternoon. It was fine by Ben: This time, he could surprise Armitage with dinner after work.

He shucked his boots at the door and padded into the kitchen. When he went to the fridge, he noticed that the ultrasound was missing. Rey must’ve dropped in for a visit while Ben was gone—she was one of their most frequent visitors, and the only one who tended to show up unannounced. Strange that Armitage hadn’t mentioned it during one of their holocomm chats, Ben thought, and stranger that Armitage hadn’t put it back when Rey left.

The collypods were in the pot when he heard Armitage’s speeder pull up. A minute later, Ben sensed his mate’s presence behind him.

“You’re home,” Armitage said, his voice oddly flat.

“Yeah. Dinner’s almost ready.” Ben looked up and around to see Armitage staring at him from the doorway. He paused. “Collypods. Is that okay?”

Armitage blinked, like the question had caught him off guard. “Yes. Of course,” he said. “How was your flight?”

“Uneventful. Which is a good thing,” Ben said. Then he extended a hand. “What are you doing over there? Come here.”

For a second, Armitage appeared to hesitate. Then he crossed the kitchen, letting Ben wrap an arm around his waist and pull him closer. He studied Ben’s face for a moment before he sighed through his nose and leaned in for a kiss. It came as a relief to Ben, who wasn’t sure why his mate seemed so standoffish.

“Missed you,” Ben said, against Armitage’s lips.

Armitage hummed, low in his throat. “You, too.”

“I picked up something for the baby,” Ben went on, nosing at Armitage’s neck and breathing him in. Lately all he’d wanted to do was smell his mate’s skin; he’d always heard that omegas smelled different when they were pregnant, and he was eagerly waiting for Armitage’s scent to change. For now, he just smelled like himself—pleasant and clean and familiar. “I think you’ll like it.”

Armitage drew back with a thin smile. “I’m going to take a shower before we eat,” he said, and stepped out of Ben’s embrace.

He slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Ben staring after him.

In the end, Ben decided to chalk it up to hormones. Omegas could be fussy and inexplicable when they were expecting, or so he’d read. Maybe after a week alone, Armitage needed a little time to adjust to sharing his space once again.

By the time Armitage emerged from the shower—hair fully dried, wearing fresh clothes—Ben had put dinner on the table and served them both. The table seemed about a mile wide as they sat on opposite sides of it. Ben told Armitage more about the job, and Armitage nodded along, asking questions in the right places, but Ben could tell he was distracted. He was also pushing his food around his plate like he did the last time they ate with Ben’s family.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Ben asked eventually. Armitage liked collypods, but maybe he was put off by another of his inexplicable food aversions. “I can make you something else. Or we can order takeout—”

“No, no, this is good—”

“I’m serious. If the smell is bothering you or something—”

“It’s good,” Armitage said, more firmly this time. He took a bite, as if to prove it. “Really. Thank you.”

Ben remained skeptical, but he chose not to press the issue. No good could come of it.

Armitage was quiet through the rest of the meal.

***

A few hours later, Armitage announced that he was going to bed—earlier than usual, but not unreasonable, given his condition. Upon hearing this, Ben exaggerated how tired he was from traveling as an excuse to join him. After all, Armitage had said he struggled to fall asleep alone.

Ben had given Armitage space all evening and gotten nowhere; maybe what his mate needed was closeness. When they climbed into bed, lights dimmed, he eased close enough that he could feel Armitage’s body heat. Armitage allowed this, which Ben took as encouragement; he wrapped an arm around his mate, pulling him back against his chest.

“I really did miss you,” Ben said with a sigh.

“I know.”

“I was thinking of you the whole time I was gone. Both of you.” When Ben moved to settle his hand over Armitage’s stomach, which had become something of a habit in recent weeks, Armitage tensed.

“Will you stop that?” he said, pushing Ben off him.

“Stop what?”

“Smothering me.”

“What? Hold on—” Ben reached for Armitage again, then thought better of it and held back. He pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Where’s this coming from? You’ve been acting strange since you got home.”

Armitage huffed. “I’m not acting strange—”

“You think I don’t know when something’s bothering you?” Ben asked. “If you’d just tell me what’s wrong, instead of shoving me off you—”

“The only thing bothering me right now is you,” Armitage said sharply. He pushed the blankets back and sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I need you stop _ pawing _at me. That’s what’s wrong.”

With that, he climbed out of bed and hurried out of the room, pulling on his robe as he went. After a moment’s hesitation, Ben followed him.

There was only one light on in the sitting room, leaving it mostly in shadow. Armitage was perched on the couch, rubbing his eyes with one hand, radiating distress. Ben lingered in the doorway for a moment and studied him. The bad feeling had come back—the one he’d felt when Armitage didn’t answer his comm, the sense that the ground was about to open underneath him.

“Armie,” Ben said slowly. “What happened to the ultrasound on the fridge?”

For a second, Armitage didn’t answer. He pressed his mouth into a thin line. “I lost it.”

“The holo?”

Armitage shook his head, without looking at Ben. “The baby,” he said, his voice thick. “I lost it.”

“You…” Some part of Ben had been braced for bad news, but it was like bracing for a blow to the face. There was no way to prepare. The pain always came, worse than expected. It was a moment before he found his voice again. “What? What do you mean?”

“I miscarried, Ben.” Armitage sounded like he resented being made to say it out loud. “That’s what I mean—”

“But—” Ben stared at him, wishing he’d misheard. “What happened? When?”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Armitage said, “Two days ago, I had some… bleeding. I called the nurse’s line at the clinic, and they said it was nothing to be worried about. Some spotting is normal, they said. So I went to work, but I had a bad feeling. Then the bleeding got heavier. It was too much, so I went to the medcenter—”

“You drove yourself?” Ben’s mind was whirling, but somehow, that detail stood out to him as especially terrible.

“What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t very well ask Dopheld to take me,” Armitage said, so jaggedly that they both winced. He sucked in a breath and dropped his voice. “There was no heartbeat.”

Ben stared at him, unable to speak.

“Apparently, I lost it about a week ago, but it took that long for—for my body to realize,” Armitage went on, dully, when Ben remained silent.

“A week ago?” That was right around the time that Ben left. He moved closer, one step at a time, feeling lost. “Armie, I…”

When Ben reached for him, Armitage turned away, raising a hand to ward him off. “I came home from the medcenter, and I just—couldn’t look at the ultrasound,” he said. His voice wobbled a little as he spoke, and he seemed to curl in on himself a little, hunching forward, shoulders braced. “I put it away. I wasn’t thinking—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ben’s throat felt tight, the words barely able to escape. He closed the distance between them, but instead of sitting beside Armitage on the couch, he found himself sinking to his knees in front of his mate, looking up at him plaintively. “When we commed yesterday, you should’ve told me—”

“You were three systems away!” Armitage said. “You couldn’t have done anything about it, and that would’ve driven you mad. There was no point in telling you until you came home.”

“But you didn’t even tell me then!” Ben raised his voice without meaning to. “Kriff, Armie, I’ve been home for hours. How could you keep that from me?”

“Because I knew you’d look at me like this.” Armitage’s voice was dangerously thin, close to breaking. His eyes were dark and shiny, and a muscle in his jaw twitched.

“What?”

Armitage took a shuddering breath. He looked like something sharp was digging into him. “I meant to tell you as soon as I saw you,” he said, voice thick. “I did. But then said you’d brought something for the baby, and you were so happy, and I couldn’t—I couldn’t take that away from you—” He broke off, clamping a hand over his mouth, as if to stop the words from spilling out. It was a moment before he continued, voice muffled by his hand. “I don’t understand what happened. It was genetically normal. My hormone levels were good. I was taking the medications…”

There seemed to be something lodged between two of Ben’s ribs, making it hard to breathe. He slumped forward, burying his face in Armitage’s lap, eyes burning. He gripped the leg of Armitage’s pants with one hand, like it would hold him in place. “Armie…”

“I don’t know what I did,” Armitage said, almost in a whisper. Ben could barely hear him over the sound of his own ragged breathing. One of his hands came up to stroke Ben’s hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t know—”

He felt Armitage curl over him, trembling.

Neither of them moved for a long time.

***

Armitage wanted to miscarry at home—that was what he told the medcenter staff the day the loss was confirmed, after they offered him pills or a surgical procedure to expedite the process. Ben sympathized; he knew that the last thing Armitage wanted was to endure yet another medical intervention. He wanted to go through this naturally, he admitted to Ben—just this one part. It might be the only part of a pregnancy that he could manage on his own.

So they waited.

They moved carefully around each other, treading lightly, speaking in guarded terms. Ben’s instinct was to hold his mate close, while Armitage’s was to retreat inward, like a wounded animal afraid to be seen in a vulnerable state.

The night Ben found out that they’d lost the baby, he had sobbed with his face buried in his mate’s lap, while Armitage stroked his hair and held him until he had no tears left. Even then, Ben sensed Armitage pulling back—going somewhere inside that Ben couldn’t reach.

After that, Ben tried to do his weeping in the shower, when the rush of water would cover the noise. He didn’t always succeed.

If Armitage cried, he did it where Ben couldn’t see.

Ben used to touch his hand to Armitage’s stomach when they were alone; now it was hard to touch Armitage at all, because his mate often shied away from contact. Ben was reluctant to kiss him, for fear that Armitage would recoil. While they slept, there was a conspicuous space between them.

Sometimes Ben worried that his tears repulsed Armitage—alphas weren’t supposed to weep helplessly while their omega mates soothed them, he thought. It should’ve been the other way around. He should be there for Armitage. And he would be, if only Armitage would let him. No matter how he asked, Armitage seemed unwilling or unable to tell Ben what he needed.

Ten days after Ben came home, Armitage was still bleeding and cramping, with no end in sight. He also continued going to work, which left Ben alone in their house with nothing to do but research what to expect.

Apparently it could take weeks for a miscarriage to complete naturally. Even if they continued to wait, it was possible that Armitage’s body would retain some bit of tissue, leading to potentially serious complications. He might need medical assistance no matter what, and then all this additional pain would be for nothing. That seemed to be the cruelest part. Even in this, there was no guarantee.

Armitage was determined to hold out—but even if he didn’t admit it, Ben could tell that this limbo they were caught in was taking a toll on him. The waiting gave him no peace.

Ben used to believe that all suffering had a purpose. It was a Jedi philosophy; padawans were taught to welcome pain as an old friend, because it provided clarity. Focusing on the center of pain revealed where one was hurt—and where one needed to heal.

But Jedi training had not prepared him for this.

After losing the baby, Ben struggled to make sense of his pain. He hurt everywhere. There was no center around which he could orient himself. No beginning and no end. The grief crashed over him like waves against a rock: relentless, eroding. Sometimes it receded long enough for him to catch his breath before slamming into him again, somehow worse than before.

For the life of him, he could see no reason to prolong his mate’s physical suffering. Still, he had to plead with Armitage to reconsider.

“I know you’ve been scaring yourself reading horror stories,” Armitage said stiffly, when Ben floated the subject again. “But this is perfectly normal.”

“You’re in pain,” Ben said. “You think I can’t tell?”

Armitage’s mouth twitched. He glanced away. “Some discomfort is normal,” he said in a flat voice.

“You could develop an infection. Sepsis, even. Do you know how fast that can set in?”

“Ben, really—”

“What happens if you get sick?” Ben asked, voice jumping a little. He’d been reading personal accounts on the HoloNet and thinking up worst-case scenarios for days; now those possibilities were at the forefront of his mind. “Really sick, I mean. What happens if you go into sepsis because we waited too long and you need a kriffing hysterectomy to save your life?”

He regretted the words almost as soon as they spilled out, realizing he’d gone too far. But it was too late. Armitage looked like he’d been struck, and Ben felt as awful as if he’d hit him.

“What happens if I can’t get pregnant again, you mean.” Armitage’s voice sounded hollow, but his eyes were hard when he looked at Ben—like a wall thrown up to keep Ben out. “Is that all you can think about, when I haven’t even finished losing this one?”

Ben winced. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said, dropping his voice.

“Then what did you mean?”

“I just…” Ben swallowed. He wanted so badly to reach for Armitage, to reassure his mate with touch. But he was afraid of being rejected. If Armitage pushed him away now, Ben would be at a loss. Finally, he found his voice again, softer than before. “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

***

On a pale blue morning, three weeks after the miscarriage was confirmed, Ben drove Armitage to the medcenter for a procedure that would cleanse him of “the products of conception.” It seemed like a cold way to describe what remained of their baby, Ben thought—the collection of blood and tissue on which they’d pinned all their hopes.

“Ben,” Armitage said after a while. He’d been looking out the window, but he glanced at Ben when he spoke. He looked pale in this light.

“Yeah?”

Armitage’s mouth opened. But a second later, he said, “Nothing. Never mind.”

He turned his face away again. The speeder was silent except for the low murmur of the radio: some talk show based on Coruscant, where the hosts where discussing the latest celebrity gossip.

Ben’s hands tightened on the steering wheel—he needed something to hold onto. Then, cautiously, he reached across the center console to place his hand on Armitage’s knee. To his surprise, Armitage allowed it.

They made the rest of the drive in silence.

***

“We’re not going to make it,” Ben said into his comm as he walked from the kitchen to the bedroom. He had the device wedged between his ear and his shoulder; his hands were occupied with a glass of water and a bottle of over-the-counter painkillers. “Tell Poe I’m sorry and I’ll catch him before he leaves.”

“Come on, Ben. You promised.” There was a hint of a familiar little-sister whine in Rey’s voice.

“I know—”

“How many times are you going to cancel on us?”

Since Poe was officially planetside, Rey had invited Ben and Armitage out for dinner and drinks tonight, “like old times.” Her message lit up Ben’s comm this morning, while he sat in the chilly waiting room at the medcenter and Armitage under anaesthesia for his procedure. Ben had stared at the message for a long time before finally slipping his comm back into his pocket without sending a response. But he’d known he would have to answer at some point.

Ben grimaced. “Armie’s not feeling well,” he said. It wasn’t a lie: At the moment, Armitage was curled up in their bed with a heating pad; apparently he would continue to bleed and cramp for some time. His hormones would be a mess for a while, too. But the worst was supposed to be over. For now, Armitage just needed to rest and recover from the procedure.

“Again?” In a moment, Rey’s tone shifted from put-out to concerned. “Is he all right?”

“It’s nothing serious. Just not conducive to a night out.”

“He never used to get sick so often,” Rey fretted.

Ben paused in front of the half-shut bedroom door and dropped his voice, so as not to disturb Armitage, who he hoped had fallen asleep. Through the cracked door, he saw the flickering blue light of the holoset. “He’s had a rough couple of weeks, that’s all.”

“Couple of months, more like. Tell him to stop working so much—I’m sure that’s the problem.”

“You try telling him that and see how far you get.”

Rey huffed, a rush of static over the comm. She knew as well as Ben did how dedicated Armitage was to his job. “Fair enough,” she said. “But we’re getting together tomorrow night, at our place. You’ll be there, won’t you?”

“If Armie’s feeling up to it,” Ben said carefully.

“Please, Ben. It’s important.”

“No promises. But I’ll try.”

Ben nudged the door the rest of the way open with his foot, then slipped into the bedroom. Though Armitage’s back was to him, Ben sensed that he was awake—watching the holoset without really seeing it, a blanket pulled up to his shoulders.

“Hey.” The pill bottle rattled as Ben placed it on the nightstand, beside the glass. He sat on the bed and reached over to rub his hand along Armitage’s hip, reassuringly. “Are you hurting?”

Armitage shook his head silently. Ben knew it was a lie, but he chose not to press the issue, just kept massaging his mate’s hip.

“We can go tomorrow,” Armitage said after a while. “To whatever it is Rey invited you to.”

Ben paused, briefly thrown. He hadn’t realized Armitage could hear him while he was on the comm—half of the conversation, anyway. “We don’t have to,” he said. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is.” Armitage’s voice was a little sharper. “We can’t keep skipping out on our obligations because of me.”

“Armie…” Suddenly Ben wished that he’d given Rey some other excuse for their absence, instead of making it Armitage’s fault again. He always let his family believe it was Armitage’s fault—that he was sick, or working. It was easier than taking heat from his family himself, and it was unfair to his mate. “If you’re not feeling up to it, you should rest.”

“Which is what I’m doing now. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

Ben wished he believed that.

Instead of arguing, he sat silently on the bed and rubbed slow circles over Armitage’s back. He could feel the tension in his mate’s body, sense his discomfort through the Force, but he didn’t know how to ease it. The holoset flickered in the background, neither of them really watching.

After a while, Armitage shifted. “Ben?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.” His voice was soft and regretful.

Ben squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden pulse of pain under his ribs. “For what?” he asked, though he knew what Armitage meant. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

Armitage said nothing to that, though he seemed to curl in on himself a little more—defensively.

Ben stayed with him until he fell asleep.

***

Rey lived with her family outside of Hanna City, almost midway between her parents’ home and her brother’s, in a cottage that was really too small for entertaining. But on warm summer nights like this one, she opened the double-doors that led out into the garden she was so proud of, which made the little dining room feel bigger.

Nora and Max were both tucked into bed by the time Ben and Armitage arrived for the late dinner Rey had planned. Han, Leia and Poe were already at the house, and as they gathered around the table to listen to Poe’s wildest on-the-job encounters, Ben hoped that this would turn out to be what Armitage needed: a night of laughter that would take his mind off things, if only for a while.

Of course he couldn’t be so lucky.

“So now that we’ve got everybody in one place,” Finn said, midway through the meal. He looked up and down the table, then laid his hand over his wife’s. “Rey and I wanted to share something.”

Beaming, Rey said, “I’m pregnant.”

For a second, nobody reacted.

“Again?” Armitage bleated. He’d paled visibly.

Under the table, Ben placed his hand on Armitage’s knee. He looked at Rey, eyebrows raised. “Are you serious?”

“Of course!” she said with a laugh. “Would I joke about something like that? You’re going to be an uncle again!”

“Wow,” Ben said, because he could think of nothing else to say. He felt like he’d been hit upside the head by an object he never saw coming. “That’s, ah—” Belatedly, he remembered himself and schooled his features into a smile that felt only a little tense, but his voice sounded distant to his own ears, muffled by the thumping of his heart. “Congratulations. That’s great news.”

He sat back in his chair as Poe leaned forward to propose a toast. Armitage poured himself a generous glass of wine.

An uncle, Ben thought. Again.

After plastering on a smile and clinking glasses, Ben let the conversation wash over him, not really absorbing it. So that was why Rey was disappointed when he and Armitage couldn’t join her last night—she’d probably planned to make an announcement then, thinking it would be a fun surprise. She’d assumed they would be happy to hear the news, like everyone else was. But just now, Ben couldn’t find it in him to feel anything of the kind.

“I had no idea you were trying,” Leia said, some time later.

Rey blushed prettily. “That’s because weren’t,” she admitted—embarrassed, but laughing at the same time. “It was as much of a surprise to us as it is to you.”

“I would’ve thought you’d figured out how it happens, after the second one,” Armitage muttered. He was approaching the bottom of his second glass of wine.

“You have the opposite problem, right?” Finn replied easily. His tone was light, but Armitage winced, and Ben felt a dull stabbing pain through their bond, deep in his chest. “At this rate, you’ll have to work pretty hard to catch up.”

“Children are a gift, whenever they appear,” Leia said diplomatically. Then she glanced at Ben. “That said, I don’t think anyone would complain if they were to appear sooner rather than later.”

Ben’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Armitage moved to refill his glass.

“So when are we meeting the kiddo?” Poe asked.

“Not for a while yet. I’m only about five weeks along, I think,” Rey told him.

“You think?” Armitage glanced up, brow furrowed. “What does your doctor say?”

“I haven’t been yet,” she said lightly. “I’ve got an appointment next week, though.”

Armitage stared at her, glass half-raised to his lips. “Are you kidding?”

“Well, I only tested positive the day before yesterday.”

It was Ben’s turn to stare.

If they hadn’t lost the baby, Armitage would’ve been about twelve weeks pregnant by now. Ben had waited with such impatience, eager to reach the point when they could be reasonably sure that there would be a baby and could tell his family about the impending arrival. Now that would never happen.

Then there was Rey—smiling, radiant Rey, who seemed unaware of the million things that could go wrong, because none of them had ever happened to her.

Surely it was wrong to begrudge his little sister her happiness. But he did. Stars, he did.

The meal dragged on, and so did the endless conversation about Rey’s pregnancy. Ben felt trapped at the table; it was all he could do to smile and nod along and contribute a few words. Rey mentioned that she would have to take some time off traveling, at least until the new baby was old enough to be fully vaccinated, but that was manageable. It wasn’t as if she were the only Jedi in the galaxy. Childcare was taken care of, more or less, both during the pregnancy and after—Han and Leia pointed out that they were always happy to babysit.

“You’re going to need a bigger place,” Leia commented. “There’s no getting around it.”

Finn nodded. “We need more space, but we don’t want too much,” he said. Then he glanced at Ben. “I mean, you guys have that giant house—I don’t know what you do with all that room when it’s just the two of you. Seems like a lot of upkeep.”

Ben suppressed a grimace. When they got married, he and Armitage bought a four-bedroom house with the intention of eventually having enough children to fill the place. Instead, they had a study and two guest rooms, rarely used. It was Ben who insisted that their home be outside the city proper—though he had fond memories of his childhood in the apartment on Embassy Row, he’d envisioned their kids running around in the open air, under the garren trees.

“Yes, well, we prefer it to being packed like sardines in this can of yours,” Armitage said, too loud.

On the pretense of filling his own glass, Ben moved the wine bottle out of Armitage’s reach. Armitage had stopped drinking years ago; his tolerance would be low and he’d already had more than enough. Though he wasn’t slurring his words just yet, Ben didn’t want him to reach that point.

When he moved to put his hand on his mate’s knee again, reassuringly, Armitage shifted away.

***

The drive home had never felt so long.

A summer storm had gathered by the time they left Rey and Finn’s place. Armitage sat in the passenger seat with his arms folded across his chest like a barrier, stewing in silence as the darkened countryside whipped past outside the rain-streaked windows. Ben just focused on the road, which suddenly seemed like the only simple, straightforward thing in his life. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

The air between them felt tense, full of the promise of lightning. Ben was still reeling from the news—and, in truth, he was annoyed that Armitage had been so obviously sour all night. He’d managed to keep it together in front of his family. Why couldn’t Armitage? Of all the times to make his feelings known, he’d chosen this one. It made no sense.

It was well after midnight when Ben pulled the speeder up to their house. Only when they were inside did the floodgates open.

“Three times,” Armitage said hotly. He was pacing back and forth in front of the couch, where Ben sat with his head in his hands. “How does someone accidentally get pregnant three times in a row?”

“I don’t know,” Ben replied, and he really didn’t. After all they’d been through, it seemed almost unbelievable to him that some people—most people, probably—could have babies by accident. More than that, it felt deeply unfair.

“And to announce it so early—” Armitage cut himself off, as if so annoyed that he couldn’t form the rest of his sentence.

That was what burned him most, Ben could tell: the notion that it had not occurred to Rey and Finn to wait, that the thought of losing their baby might never have crossed their minds. Armitage wanted that perfect happiness. Ben wanted him to have it, too.

Suddenly Armitage stopped pacing. “Do they even want another baby?”

His voice was rough, but there was something else in it now: an undercurrent of sorrow, threatening to rise to the surface. Ben had sensed it there for weeks, ever since the miscarriage was confirmed. But Armitage seemed unwilling to let it out, choosing instead to cover it with other emotions.

“Armie,” Ben said slowly, lifting his head. He could feel the beginnings of a headache throbbing behind his eyes.

“What?”

“It’s all right to be sad about this. You’re allowed to feel that way, you know.”

Armitage rounded on him. His eyes were dark and sharp. “Sad?” he echoed, incredulous. “I’m not sad, Ben. I’m furious.” His voice rose, getting higher and louder. “I’m furious that you say nothing when your family makes their little comments. I’m furious that we had to sit through all that and come back to this giant, empty house—again. I’m furious that we’ve been doing this for years, with nothing to show for it, while your sister treats it like a game!”

He was yelling now, two spots of color burning on his cheeks, hands clenched at his sides.

“They’re not doing this to spite us,” Ben said—to himself as much as to Armitage. He had to remind himself that it was true, or the directionless anger that sometimes bubbled up inside him would boil over.

“I don’t care. I can’t do this anymore,” Armitage said.

“What?”

Armitage sucked in a breath. “I don’t want to try again,” he said, and he seemed to be struggling to control his volume. “It’s too much. I can’t.”

For a second, Ben thought he’d misheard. Undergoing a third round of IVF was Armitage’s idea to begin with. Ben was supportive, of course, and hopeful, but he would’ve been willing to stop after the second failed round if it was what his mate wanted. Armitage was the one who said they’d been through too much already to give up—and though the miscarriage was devastating, at least they knew now that Armitage could become pregnant. They’d never been sure it was possible before.

Now he wanted to quit, on the spot, because of someone else’s pregnancy?

Ben stood, feeling unsteady, like the ground had shifted beneath him. Then he swallowed, hard. “Let’s not talk about this right now,” he said, moving to cup Armitage’s elbow. “We’ll get some sleep, and in the morning, we can—”

Armitage twisted away from him so aggressively that he almost lost his balance. “Why can’t we talk about it now?”

“Because you’re drunk,” Ben said in a flat tone. He felt another flash of annoyance, like he had at dinner. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“I’m sober enough to know my own mind,” Armitage said in a sour tone. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, but Ben could still see his lip trembling, just a little. “I hate this, Ben. I hate what it’s done to me—”

Ben moved to reach for him again, then held back, cautious. “I know how hard it is,” he said. “But—”

“What do you know about it, exactly?” Armitage gave him a withering look. “You have no idea. I’m a pfassking lab rat. The worst thing you have to do is ejaculate into a cup.”

“Kriff, Armie—it’s not my fault I’m an alpha. You think I wouldn’t do it for you if I could?”

Armitage shook his head. “You wouldn’t be able to handle it. You can’t even give an injection properly!”

“You asked me to do that,” Ben said, jabbing a finger at his mate. He raised his shoulders, defensively—not because he’d been wrongly accused, but because he knew Armitage was right. Stars, he’d said the same words to himself, while mopping up blood after an injection. When he blinked, he saw flashes of the bruises that bloomed over his mate’s skin like ugly watercolor stains. “It was your idea—”

“Because you were wandering around all moon-eyed and helpless.” Armitage’s words were so jagged that Ben felt like he’d been cut. “I let you stab me with a needle, night after night, so you could feel involved, like you wanted. I didn’t want to hurt your precious feelings, so I let you hurt me instead—”

“I’m doing the best I can, for fuck’s sake,” Ben snapped—knowing it was true and hating himself because it wasn’t enough. He wouldn’t be surprised if some part of Armitage hated him, too. “I can’t fix a problem I don’t know about. How can you expect to me know what’s wrong if you won’t tell me?”

“You’re the mind-reader, aren’t you?” Armitage sneered.

“Not with you. Never with you. So you have to talk to me—”

“What am I supposed to say?” Armitage demanded. “That I’m sick of this? That it’s hell and there’s nothing you can do to make it better?” His voice was raw. “You don’t want to hear that from me. And I don’t want to hear you say that everything’s going to be fine, like you always do,” he added, before Ben could speak. “I swear I’ll scream if I hear you say that again—”

“You don’t want to hear from me at all,” Ben said savagely. “But maybe I _ need _to talk about it, and you’re all I have. Did that ever occur to you?”

Something like confusion clouded Armitage’s face. “Ben—”

“This didn’t just happen to you,” Ben said, each word hard and distinct. He moved closer to Armitage as he spoke, close enough that he could see himself reflected in his mate’s eyes, close enough to touch. But he didn’t reach for Armitage—it seemed impossible. “We lost our child. It happened to both of us. I can’t just watch you self destruct—”

“Then leave!” Armitage shouted, with such vehemence that Ben took a step back. “Stop watching, if it’s so fucking hard!”

The silence that followed was immense. Armitage had gone perfectly still. He looked nearly as stunned as Ben felt, as if he were shocked by his own words.

For a second, Ben wasn’t sure if he’d meant to say that, or if the words had slipped out before he could stop them. Then he realized it didn’t matter.

Ben’s heart thudded in his ears, so loudly that his own voice sounded muffled. “I want to be here for you,” he said. His throat was so tight that it was hard to get the words out. “And I’m trying. But you’ve got to give me something. You’ve got to want me here. I can’t keep throwing everything I have at you and hoping some of it sticks. I’m exhausted, Armie. I’ve got nothing left.”

He waited for Armitage to speak—to contradict him, to say he wanted Ben with him now. But he never did. He just hugged himself with one arm and stared at Ben with eyes like one-way mirrors. Somehow, his silence cut deeper than anything he could’ve said.

Ben turned on his heel and walked out.

***

He wasn’t sure where he was going as he rushed out of the house, or what he would do with himself, but the rain felt good against his hot face. The garren trees were blowing in the wind, leaves rustling. Lightning flashed in the distance like a tangle of veins.

On an impulse, he yanked his lightsaber from its familiar, constant place on his belt and ignited it. The red blade hissed and sizzled in the rain, steaming.

When he was a padawan, Ben was never great at traditional meditation. It was often a challenge for him to quiet his racing thoughts. Practicing the forms proved to be a better outlet—it focused his mind on a single point, anchored him in his body. For him, that was meditation. For him, that was peace.

Ben’s feet moved almost without him having to think about it. He knew this sequence by heart: the attacks and parries and turns. The weapon felt like an extension of his arm.

Lightsaber combat was something else he’d planned to share with their children.

One more dream that would never come true.

Ben moved faster and faster, his precise strikes turning into wild slashes that he would probably feel as an ache in his shoulders tomorrow. The red glow of his lightsaber illuminated the trees in flashes as he spun the weapon in his hand. He screamed as he hacked through some invisible enemy, and the wind carried his voice away, along with a far-off rumble of thunder.

His boot slipped in the mud, and he slammed onto one knee. Rainwater ran into his eyes, blurring his vision. He screamed again, loud enough that it burned in his throat, and let his lightsaber fall from his hand onto the grass, where it flicked off, plunging him into darkness.

He beat his fists against the ground, hard, and the pain was good—more immediate than the other pain deep inside him. There would be an end to this one. He could make it stop whenever he wanted.

It felt like a long time had passed before he felt around for his lightsaber and climbed to his feet. His hands throbbed, and the muscles in his arms burned, and his throat felt raw. But he felt lighter somehow.

The house was silent when Ben stepped inside. He slipped out of his boots at the door and peeled off his wet sweater, leaving him in an undershirt, and placed his lightsaber on the coffee table. Barefoot, he went in search of his mate.

Through the cracked bedroom door, Ben saw a narrow slice of the room beyond. Only the bedside lamp was on, spilling amber light across the rumpled bed. Armitage lay on Ben’s side, on top of the blankets, curled up like he was in pain. His shoulders appeared to be hitching a little, and Ben could hear his ragged breathing.

The door creaked as Ben pushed it open, and Armitage lifted his head. In the dim light, his face looked splotchy and his eyes were red-rimmed. He tensed when he saw Ben, swiping furiously at his face with one hand as he pushed himself upright. “I thought I told you to leave,” he said, without any real heat. His voice was thick.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” Ben said, hoping Armitage would smile. But he didn’t. “Hey.”

“What?”

“How come you’re hiding from me?”

Armitage sniffed and scrubbed at his face again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on.” Ben moved closer to the bed, one step at a time, like Armitage was an animal he didn’t want to spook. “You hide it, but I know you’re in pain.”

He could sense it through their mate bond, and through the Force: a deep wound that had not yet begun to heal. Like a broken rib, it pained Armitage with every breath, impossible to ignore. Ben wished he’d taken the time to look for it earlier—weeks ago, when the miscarriage was confirmed, or even before that, when the seemingly endless medical treatments were grinding his mate down to nothing. He’d been suffering for a long time, but Ben was too focused on what might be ahead of them to recognize what was in front of him now.

“You’re not going to scare me off,” Ben told him, in a gentle voice. The mattress dipped under his weight as he climbed onto the bed. “You know that, right? There’s nothing you could do that would make me leave—”

Armitage turned his face away, stubborn. He stiffened when Ben pulled him into his arms. “Ben!” he yelped.

Ben shushed him. “Come here.”

“What are you doing? You’re freezing.” Armitage pushed at Ben’s shoulder with one hand. “Get off me—”

Instead, Ben wrapped Armitage more securely in his embrace. Armitage tried to extricate himself, but Ben held on, curling around him. This close, he could feel Armitage’s heart slamming, rabbit-fast. He caught the familiar scent of his mate’s sweat—and the less-familiar scent of the hastily-wiped tears still drying on his cheeks.

Now that he was reaching out, through the Force and through their bond, Ben could sense the shape of Armitage’s feelings. He’d shoved them down so far that it was hard for Ben to make them out, but he felt the tender places now, like bruises mapped out across his skin: the places where it hurt to touch, the old wounds that needed to be cleaned out.

“I know you’re angry.” Ben’s throat tightened around the words. “And I know you’re scared. So am I.”

“Get off me,” Armitage said again, as Ben drew him onto the bed. His body was so tense that he seemed as if he might shatter at any moment. “I don’t—I can’t—goddammit, Ben—” He took a gulping breath and kicked at Ben, who didn’t budge.

When he seemed to have realized that Ben wasn’t planning to let go, a strangled noise escaped Armitage, the kind of noise a wounded animal would make.

“It’s not fair,” he said, and his voice was not breaking so much as it was already broken. Ben couldn’t see his face, but holding him like this, he felt how Armitage had pulled himself as taut as a wire. “I did everything right. Everything—”

“I know,” Ben said, into his mate’s hair.

“I really thought—for a little while, I thought—”

“Me, too.”

“Stop it,” Armitage said, and it came out as a sob. Another followed, and another—messy, hiccuping things that he seemed unable to control. He thumped Ben’s back, hard, in frustration or retaliation, and shoved at him again, still weeping. “Pfassk, I just want it to stop—”

Ben held him while he thrashed and wailed.

“It’s all right. I can take it,” Ben told him, again and again, soft enough that he wasn’t sure if Armitage heard him. It didn’t matter. “Give it to me, I can take it—”

Armitage was sobbing and screaming at the same time, a wretched sound. He pounded Ben’s back and chest with his fists, with all the rage he’d been holding onto for so long.

It was pouring out of him now, and Ben felt it all, in waves. Fear that they would never be parents. Anger that what came so easily to others seemed impossible for him. Longing for the little one they would never meet.

Ben held him through it, until the fervor seemed to have bled out of him and he went limp in Ben’s arms. His whole body was shaking with the force of his sobs: hard, painful-sounding, like each one was being punched out of him. They clung to each other, trembling, for what felt like an age.

When Ben closed his eyes, the darkness he found there was peaceful.

***

“I was thinking—donor eggs, maybe,” Armitage said, when his tears had subsided. His voice was hoarse; Ben could feel his breath against his neck, over the bond mark. His hands were still bunched in the back of Ben’s shirt. “That works for some people who are unexplained. So it could be yours. We just wouldn’t use my eggs.”

“Armie…” They’d had this conversation, years ago, when they were first exploring IVF and considering how far they were willing to go in order to have a biological child. While Ben wasn’t opposed to using donated embryos, if it came to that, he wasn’t entirely comfortable using his own sperm and donor eggs. He would prefer that their child be genetically related to both of them or neither of them—and he’d told Armitage as much. Back then, they were in agreement.

“Mine are too old. Or there’s something else wrong with them. Or just something wrong with me. My body—”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true. I know it is.” Armitage sounded miserable. He sniffed. “But we can keep going. I can—I can try again.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?” Ben asked.

Armitage tucked his face closer against Ben’s neck, inhaling. “Not long. If it’s something you want, we can do it. All right?”

Where was this coming from? Ben had a sudden sinking feeling. While he was gone, Armitage had laid in their bed, sobbing, probably thinking of how they might continue treatment—because of how Ben reacted when he said he wanted to stop. He realized that Armitage had thought he would be disappointed.

“No big decisions tonight,” Ben said, pulling Armitage a little closer and kissing the side of his head.

He felt Armitage let out a slow breath. “I’m tired,” he said. “I’m so kriffing tired.”

“I know.” Tired of everything, bone-deep. Ben knew the feeling. “Maybe we should take a trip.”

“A trip?”

“Yeah.” In the past, when a transfer failed, they’d spent a few days at the family cabin on the shores of Lake Sah’ot, just the two of them. It helped them refocus. But this time, he had a feeling that they would benefit from a more dramatic change of scenery. “Offworld this time. Get away for a while.”

Armitage didn’t answer right away. “Let’s talk about it in the morning,” he said.

Ben hummed in agreement. They lay together for a long time, Ben rubbing slow circles over Armitage’s back until he sensed that his mate had fallen asleep.

***

A popular vacation world in the Deep Core, Spira was an obvious choice for a spontaneous getaway. A little too obvious, maybe, but Ben had wanted to take Armitage to a planet he’d never seen. Somewhere impressive. Extravagant, even. Armitage liked the finer things in life—he just didn’t think he deserved them. Ben wanted him to feel differently, at least for a little while.

To that end, he’d booked them a couple’s massage in the hotel spa later this afternoon, as well as some other services that Armitage would enjoy alone. He could use some time to himself.

For now, on the second day of their vacation, they were enjoying the water. Ben was, anyway.

“Are you really going to stay there all day?” Ben called as he walked barefoot up the beach to where his husband was stretched out on a lounger, in no danger of getting wet.

“That’s the plan,” Armitage said, without looking up from his holobook. Though he was in the shade of a giant umbrella, he wore dark sunglasses.

“You said you would go swimming with me.”

“I lied,” Armitage said easily.

Ben crouched in the sand beside Armitage’s lounger and gave him a considering look. “I’m eighty percent sure I could pick you up and throw you over my shoulder.”

“And I’m one hundred percent sure that would go badly for you,” Armitage told him, placid.

That made Ben grin. He leaned over and kissed Armitage soundly on the mouth, eliciting a small noise of surprise.

“What was that for?” Armitage asked.

“Nothing,” Ben said, still smiling. “Do my back? I think I missed a spot.”

Armitage hummed and drew his legs up, gesturing for Ben to sit in front of him. Ben did, facing away from Armitage and straddling the lounger as Armitage set his book aside and reached into the beach bag he’d packed before agreeing to leave the hotel room.

Ben gazed out across the jewel-blue water as Armitage rubbed sunscreen over his back. Sailing ships bobbed peacefully in the marina south of the city, which was ringed by sheer cliffs. The white sand beaches seemed to stretch on forever, pristine.

Armitage dug his thumbs into Ben’s shoulders, kneading a little, and Ben felt himself letting go of tension he hadn’t realized he carried. It was funny: Armitage was about as Force-sensitive as a rock—in fact, Ben had encountered rocks more sensitive than his mate—but sometimes he picked up on things that Ben’s senses could not. That was what it meant to have a mate, Ben thought. A true companion.

“It’s not so bad, being offworld,” Ben said.

“Not so bad,” Armitage agreed.

Moments later, they both stiffened at the unmistakable sound of a child wailing. Ben looked up and around.

Not far away, a blue-skinned Twi’lek girl who looked to be three or four years old was sobbing while her older sister gleefully stomped on a little sandcastle. A woman who Ben guessed was their mother rushed over, speaking rapid Twi’leki—scolding the older girl, probably, while attempting to soothe the younger one. She sounded exasperated as she scooped up the screaming toddler.

Ben glanced over his shoulder at Armitage, who was watching the scene with undisguised longing. Looking at him made something twist inside Ben’s chest. He wanted that, Ben knew—the good and the bad, the frustrations and the joys. All of it.

Stars, there was always something to remind them of what they couldn’t have.

“Armie,” he said.

Armitage’s expression instantly closed off. When he turned his gaze on Ben, his eyes were shiny. “Yes?”

“I want you to meet me at the hotel bar tonight—the one just off the casino floor. Wear the nicest clothes you brought.”

Armitage furrowed his brow. “What for?”

“You’ll see.” Ben had planned to wait a couple of days for this, whenever it felt right. But maybe it was right now. “Just meet me there around nine.”

“Ben—”

“Humor me for once.”

“I humor you frequently,” Armitage said, which made Ben grin. Then he sighed through his nose and leaned forward enough to give Ben a peck on the mouth. “But all right. I’ll play along.”

***

Aptly named The Aspre Plunge, the resort was carved into a cliff wall on the northern side of Ataria Island, one of the largest islands on this planet. The steel and glass building spanned the height of the cliff before dropping into the surf; the lower levels, including the casino and some of the hotel suites, were submerged.

The casino’s outer wall was made up of curved, floor-to-ceiling transparisteel, which provided a view into the sea. The effect was a little disorienting at first, Ben thought as he wove around slot machines and card tables on his way to the lounge where he’d asked Armitage to meet him—like being inside a fish bowl. But it was undeniably beautiful. Even at a distance, he spotted unfamiliar fish swimming among the coral reef that surrounded the resort.

When Ben arrived at the lounge, which teemed with well-dressed gamblers of indeterminate species, soft music floated from a low stage where a Twi’lek pianist was playing. Armitage was already seated at the bar. He wore narrow trousers and a tunic embellished with delicate golden stitching that spilled from the shoulders and down the sleeves. The tunic had a neckline that showed off the bond mark at the base of his throat—a little racy, Ben thought. He liked it.

Bottles of strange liquor arranged along the back bar glowed under the amber lights, but Armitage did not have a drink in front of him. He was waiting for Ben, probably.

Instead of joining him, Ben took a seat at an empty table near the middle of the room. Then he flagged down a serving droid and instructed it to send a desert bloom to the red-haired human sitting alone at the bar.

As he studied Armitage from a distance, like a stranger, Ben thought back to the first time he ever saw his mate. When Rey talked about the person who helped her maintain the crumbling old Jedi texts she’d gathered from all over the galaxy, he’d imagined an old xeno—someone like Han’s friend Maz, perhaps.

The day he accompanied Rey to the antique shop where Armitage worked at the time, he was surprised to meet a young human with red hair and a manner of speaking that made it clear he wasn’t from the Core. His mouth seemed perpetually downturned, and from the moment they met, all Ben wanted was to make him smile.

Ten years later, that was still his wish.

Looking back, Ben knew he’d made a fool of himself. He was barely twenty-four, inexperienced with love. His attempts at courtship were clumsy and too eager, based largely on ideas he’d picked from alphas and omegas in holodramas. He invented excuses to accompany Rey to the shop, and when she had no reason to go, he went by himself. Armitage seemed annoyed by his presence at first. But when Ben asked his opinion on a series of seascapes by an Arkanisian painter, who it turned out Armitage admired, they had their first real conversation.

Weeks later, after using the Force to catch a Nabooian vase that Armitage had accidentally knocked off a shelf, Armitage let Ben kiss him in the back room of the shop. In that moment, for the first time in his life, Ben was that another person understood exactly how he felt—because he sensed that Armitage was feeling it, too.

(Ben returned to the shop when Armitage wasn’t scheduled to work and bought the paintings. A year later, he gave them to Armitage as a wedding gift. The paintings were still displayed in their home.)

When the droid presented Armitage with the drink Ben had ordered, he looked puzzled, then suspicious. He looked up and around as the droid rolled away, his gaze landing on Ben. He rolled his eyes a little, but he was smiling.

Ben unfurled himself from his seat and crossed to the bar, his steps measured. “Waiting for someone?” he asked, pitching his voice a little lower than usual as he sidled up next to Armitage and leaned his elbow on the bar.

Armitage frowned. “What are you…” He trailed off as he looked Ben up and down, taking in his appearance. Rather than one of the suits that Armitage probably knew he’d packed, Ben was dressed in the dark, nondescript clothes he usually wore while traveling for a job. He also was not wearing his wedding band; it currently hung on a chain around his neck, tucked under his shirt. Armitage took a delicate sip of his drink. “Who’s asking?”

Ben took that as an invitation to sit. “The man who bought you that drink.”

“Presumptuous of you.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

Armitage made a noncommittal noise, even as he lifted the glass. “Too early to say,” he replied. He swirled the blue liquid around. “What made you think I’d like this? Or even accept it?”

“You strike me as having good taste.”

“And you flatter yourself,” Armitage said, lifting his chin a little. There was a hint of disdain in his voice, which Ben found strangely exciting. “What should I call you?”

For a second, Ben wasn’t sure if Armitage was speaking in character or out of character—or if he was playing a character at all. But it didn’t matter. The answer was the same. “Ren,” he said. “Kylo Ren.”

Armitage took another sip to hide his smile. He knew of Kylo Ren, Ben’s alter ego, but he’d never “met” him properly. Not until tonight. “Hux,” he said, after a moment’s consideration.

It was Ben’s turn to bite back a smile. “Where’s your mate tonight, Hux?” he asked, his gaze lingering over the bond mark at Armitage’s neck. The faded scar in the shape of Ben’s teeth made it clear that he belonged to someone. Ben’s own mark was hidden by the collar of his shirt.

“My mate,” Armitage replied, straightening a little, “is on Spira for a conference. He’s at a function right now.”

It was Ben’s turn to bite back a smile. “So what are you doing here at the bar?” He looked Armitage up and down, letting his gaze linger. “Did you come along on this trip to keep an eye on him? Or maybe it’s the other way around. If I were your mate, I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

That made Armitage roll his eyes. “You sound like every other alpha,” he said dismissively.

“Can you blame me?” Ben asked. “The galaxy’s full of unsavory types, just waiting to take advantage of a lonely omega—” He risked a touch, reaching for Armitage’s knee.

Without hesitation, Armitage slapped his hand away. “I beg your pardon,” he said in a stern voice.

Stars, Ben liked that. “I’m talking about politicians,” he went on. “Merchants. Pirates.”

“Scoundrels,” Armitage said, shooting Ben a pointed look.

“Scoundrel? I like the sound of that,” Ben said with a smile.

Armitage let out of a quiet huff.

“And you like me because I’m a scoundrel,” Ben went on, as sure of it in the fantasy as he was in real life, years ago, when they first met. “There aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”

Armitage turned up his nose, but Ben could see that he was fighting not to smile. “I happen to like nice men,” he said primly.

“Like your husband?” Ben asked. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure he’s a nice man who takes good care of you.” This time, when he brushed his fingers over Armitage’s knee, he wasn’t immediately rebuffed. “I bet he’s boring, too.”

“Boring?”

Ben hummed. “You must be tired of him,” he said, squeezing Armitage’s leg, thinking about how soft and smooth his skin was. “He’s probably as polite and respectful in the bedroom as he is at his work functions. He can’t give you what you need.”

When Armitage turned his head, just slightly, as if gathering himself, Ben saw how his pulse fluttered near his bond mark. “You don’t have the faintest idea of what I need,” Armitage said.

“There’s a reason why you’re sitting at the bar, showing off your throat like that, instead of waiting for him in your room,” Ben replied. Then he pitched his voice low, leaning closer as he slid his hand up Armitage’s thigh and splayed his fingers. “You think I don’t know an omega slut when I see one?”

Armitage’s mouth dropped open, scandalized, and for a second, Ben was afraid that he’d taken the game too far. The words had just slipped out—he wasn’t thinking.

Then he saw the gleam in Armitage’s eyes.

“Get your filthy hand off me this instant,” Armitage said hotly, “or I’ll take you to your knees in front of this entire bar.”

Ben grinned. “Promise?”

***

They barely made it into the hotel room before they were on each other, all hands and mouths.

Outside the wrap-around transparisteel windows, the coral reef glowed blue. It was the only source of light as they stumbled toward the bed, tearing at each other’s clothes. Ben managed to pull Armitage’s tunic over his head and threw it aside carelessly.

“Look at you,” Ben said, eyes catching on Armitage’s collar bones, the freckles across his shoulders, his long white throat. He wasn’t sure if they were playing characters anymore, or if this was just them now that they were alone together. Either way, the effect Armitage had on him was the same. In the strange blue light of another world, he felt as if he were seeing his mate with new eyes. “Kriff.”

“You’re just going to look?” Armitage replied, breathlessly. His eyes were dark and needful. His mouth appeared kiss-reddened already—but maybe that was a trick of the light.

They crashed together again, pulling at the remaining clothes that separated them. In his haste to undress, Ben almost tripped over his own trousers. He ran his hands along the curve of Armitage’s spine and shoulder blades, squeezed at his hips—whatever bare skin he could reach. The lines of his mate’s body were familiar to him: a little softer than when they met, a decade ago now, and no less beloved.

Kissing him felt so good that it made Ben’s teeth ache.

Armitage’s knees buckled when he bumped into the edge of the bed; he tumbled onto the mattress and Ben fell half on top of him. When the wedding band hanging on a chain around Ben’s neck swung forward, striking Armitage’s collar bone, he gave a muffled gasp of surprise. “What—”

“My ring,” Ben explained. His mouth felt pleasantly bruised as he spoke. “I took it off earlier. You know. For realism.”

“But you kept it on you.” Armitage pushed himself up onto one elbow and reached for the ring with his other hand. The metal caught the light.

“Yeah.” Ben rarely removed it. This was the longest he’d gone without the ring on his finger. “Of course I did.”

For a second, Armitage just stared at the ring. Then he gripped the silver chain around Ben’s neck and used it to pull him in for another kiss.

***

The ‘fresher was full of fragrant steam, and simulation candles glowed on the shelves and counters, casting the room in warm golden light. The jetted tub in the middle of the room was big enough for the two of them to sit comfortably, facing each other—it was one of the reasons why Ben had booked this particular suite. He’d had a feeling Armitage would appreciate it. Now he saw that he was right.

“I can’t believe you called me a slut,” Armitage said, resting his arms on the rim of the tub. He was submerged up to his chest, already a little flushed from the heat. The love bites and bruises Ben had sucked into his skin were beginning to show, ruddy patches on his pale neck and shoulders.

“It just came out,” Ben said as he climbed into the tub with his mate. A little water sloshed over the side, onto the white tiles, when he sank into the bath. His face felt warm, but only in part because of the steam rising off the water. “I wasn’t really thinking.”

“So when you’re not thinking, your first instinct is to call me a slut?”

Ben opened his mouth to apologize. Then he saw that his mate was holding back a grin. “You seemed to like it well enough,” he commented.

They both had—it had been a change of pace. Ben couldn’t remember the last time they had made love without the thought of conception hanging over them. This time, for once, sex didn’t feel like a chore. It had been fun. Intimate. No pressure. How could he have forgotten what that was like?

“It was—unexpected,” Armitage said. He cupped a handful of water and let it run through his fingers. “That’s what I liked. I think I may need to meet Kylo Ren again sometime.”

“Yeah?” Ben sat up a little. “You know, I’ve got other—concepts.”

“Do you?” Armitage raised his eyebrows.

Ben took that for encouragement. Under the water, he ran his hand up his mate’s leg, from ankle to calf. “Hear me out,” he said. “I’m a radar technician. You’re a new hire who needs training.”

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Armitage said. He seemed to consider it. “You’re a new radar tech, and I’m the commanding officer on your Star Destroyer.”

“Am I good at my job?”

“You’re terrible. You don’t even know what a calcinator is.”

“I’m incompetent in your fantasies?”

Armitage hummed. “That’s why you get called into the general’s office,” he said, pitching his voice lower. “For a disciplinary meeting.”

“Oh,” Ben said slowly. Then he grinned. “I like the sound of that.”

***

For years, when they were almost constantly in the middle of treatment, their days and nights were shaped around medication schedules and doctor’s appointments.

But for that languid, sun-soaked week on Spira, the clinic on Chandrila was light-years away. There were no medications throwing Armitage’s body out of whack, no cycle planned to begin when they got home—and no reason not to indulge themselves in whatever they liked, whether it was soft cheese or strange liquor or making love simply because it felt good.

It was a relief not to think about trying to conceive, in a way Ben had not expected. They’d been at this for so long that he’d almost forgotten what it was like before the struggle to grow their family consumed their lives.

The weeks following their trip had felt much the same—like a weight had been lifted. They had yet to return to the clinic to discuss their next steps, like they usually did after a failure.

Ben found it easier to reach for Armitage, to hold him in their bed at night, to kiss him simply because he could. Stars, Ben had missed this. How long had it been since he felt truly close to Armitage? Now that he had his mate’s affection again, he wasn’t sure how he’d gone without.

Meanwhile, Armitage seemed more like himself. He no longer shied away from Ben’s touch—and when he came home at night, he actually wanted to share what had happened that day with Ben, whether it was an unusual volume he’d acquired or a conversation with Dopheld. One of his professional acquaintances had just asked him to present at an antiquarian booksellers’ conference that would be held on Eufornis Major later this year, and he was considering it. That came as a surprise. Ben couldn’t remember the last time Armitage had made long-term plans for anything other than treatment.

It had been so long since they had this: casual intimacy, and normal things to look forward to. A life of their own. Ben didn’t want to let all that slip away again.

A little more than a month after they returned from Spira, when they were lounging on the sofa after breakfast on a lazy Zhellday, Armitage turned to Ben, and the look in his eyes gave Ben pause.

“Do you remember what I said before?” Armitage asked. “About—stopping?”

“I remember.” Ben should’ve known this was coming. The last time Armitage broached the subject, in the middle of a fight, Ben had urged him not to make any rash decisions while he was upset. They both needed time to think about what they really wanted—and now they’d had it.

For half a minute, Armitage was quiet. Then he took a breath. “When we first started talking about how far we were willing to go,” he said slowly, “I wasn’t sure where the limit was for me. I drew a line, somewhere—but whenever a treatment failed, the line kept receding. There was always something else we could try. I never felt ready to stop.”

Ben hummed, rubbing his hand in circles over Armitage’s back.

They could attempt another round of IVF, if they wanted. Whatever Armitage said, with his thirty-eighth birthday on the horizon, he wasn’t too old. They had the credits, too—money that might otherwise be used for offworld travel or other goals and indulgences that had instead been funneled toward treatment.

But that would mean more medication and more side effects. More bruises and more blood. It would mean another egg retrieval, as well as more testing and waiting.

There were other options available, ones that might give them a better chance of success. Donor eggs, like Armitage had mentioned, or donor embryos. Surrogacy was possible, if they were willing to pursue that option. Each route would be grueling in its own way. Success was far from guaranteed.

Ben used to think that, as long as Armitage wanted to continue treatment, he would be on board, too. Now, after everything, he felt differently. For the first time since the miscarriage, his own feelings were clear.

If Armitage told him today that he wanted to do another round of IVF, Ben would ask him to reconsider. He wanted to be a supportive mate, and he wanted a child so badly—but the last three rounds had ravaged Armitage, body and mind. Ben didn’t want to see him go through that much pain again, especially with such slim odds of success.

No matter how they approached it, trying again would probably mean more heartbreak. Ben wasn’t sure how much more their marriage could take.

“How do you feel now?” Ben asked, bracing himself.

Armitage was quiet for a moment, fiddling with his wedding band the way he did when he was nervous. “I feel like this is it,” he said at last. He wasn’t quite looking at Ben. “There’s nothing more we can do—nothing that would make a difference.” He took a shaky breath. “It doesn’t happen for some people. I know that. I always knew that. I just—didn’t think it would be us.” Sniffing, he swiped at his eyes with one hand. “Pfassk. I’m sorry—”

“Hey.” Ben pulled his hand away from his face. “There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“You’re not… disappointed?” Armitage asked, and Ben could sense his wariness. He had been worried about what Ben would say—braced for the worst.

Ben felt a renewed sense of shame for his reaction the night Rey announced her pregnancy. When Armitage had said he wanted to stop trying, the words had felt like a weapon he was using to hurt Ben: jagged and reckless, coming from a place of spite. Ben’s immediate response was negative. Defensive. He wasn’t ready to stop—it felt too much like failure then, when they had finally glimpsed success. But that was before Spira. Before a lot of things.

“No,” Ben said—and he wasn’t, not in the way Armitage had feared. He kissed his mate’s knuckles, and he felt Armitage’s hand trembling, just a little. Ben was shaking, too, under the enormity of it. “You did so much for us. You’ve done enough.”

After almost six years, Ben was sick of waiting. He was beginning to think, for the first time since they started trying, that he wanted to live his life more than he wanted a baby. He wanted them to live on together.

“I don’t know what happens now,” Armitage said, on an exhale. He squeezed Ben’s hand, just once, and it seemed like a reflex. “I had this map in my head—this path we were following, and there was a baby at the end. But it’s not there anymore. I can’t see it.”

There was a helplessness in his voice that Ben recognized, because he was feeling it, too. The future he’d envisioned for years—the one they’d dreamed of together, and fought so hard to make real—was disappearing before his eyes.

He wasn’t sure what his life would look like now, what shape the future would take as they moved forward. But he felt sure that they could find new dreams, if they looked.

“We were happy once,” Ben said gently. He was holding one of Armitage’s hands between both of his, rubbing his thumb over the scattering of freckles across his skin that made Ben think of a star map of a familiar system, a path that led all the way home. “Just the two of us. Weren’t we?”

Armitage sighed through his nose. “It seems like that was a long time ago,” he said.

“Because it was,” Ben replied, and Armitage managed a weak laugh. It was laugh, Ben knew, or dissolve into tears. Bear it or buckle under it. He looked up at his mate. “I think we can be happy again. I want to try, at least.”

For a moment, Armitage just watched him in silence. He was close enough that Ben saw the pulse beating at his throat. He saw the shivering light in his eyes—the hope and the hopelessness. Then he smiled, faintly.

“I want that, too,” Armitage said at last, and laced their fingers together.

***

Armitage made an appointment with his doctor, but this time, it was only to get back on hormonal birth control.

Since their first medicated cycle, Armitage’s heats had been controlled or suppressed entirely for treatment purposes; he hadn’t experienced a natural heat in years. Now that they weren’t trying to get pregnant, however, there was no reason for him to deal with heats at all.

He admitted to Ben that it was something of a relief, in its own way—his heats weren’t intolerable, but he hated their unpredictability. Because he was never quite sure when a heat would come, it was hard to make plans. But that wouldn’t be a problem anymore. He could make arrangements for his trip to Eufornis Major, for instance, without worrying that he would go into heat during the conference.

Ben was glad of that, at least. He was still adjusting to the knowledge that they would never have children—but they were finding little bright spots here and there, new spaces in their lives that had previously been reserved for grief and anger and the cruelest slivers of hope.

It was all for the best, he told himself. For both of them.

***

Ben was home alone, watching a bad daytime holodrama, when his comm beeped out the distinctive two-toned chime that heralded a message from Rey. Absently, he fished the device out of his back pocket, opened the message—and instantly felt his stomach drop to somewhere around his knees.

Rey had sent a black and white image.

An ultrasound.

Apparently she’d just left her twenty-week anatomy scan. Everything was just as it should be.

The comm chimed again as a follow-up message came in, punctuated by colorful icons: _ Looks like a boy this time! We’re so excited. _

A message from Leia lit up the screen: _ I had a feeling it would be a boy. Congratulations. _

That was when Ben realized Rey had sent a mass message to practically everyone she knew, Armitage included. Kriff.

He set his comm on the table with a clatter, surprised and a little embarrassed by the intensity of his own reaction. Stars, it wasn’t like he’d never seen an ultrasound before. But he hadn’t been properly braced to look at one now, especially not Rey’s.

Ben rubbed at his eyes, and the last ultrasound he’d seen floated up in the darkness behind his closed lids, unbidden—the one they used to keep on the fridge, that showed their baby’s tiny, fluttering heart. Armitage’s anatomy scan would’ve happened a few weeks ago, if they hadn’t lost the baby. They would know the sex and possibly the designation by now, if they’d chosen to find out. Ben might’ve been able to sense if the baby was a boy or a girl, much like Leia had.

Now they would never know.

There was a hard knot in Ben’s chest, difficult to breathe around. It was more than an hour before he could muster the will send a vague, positive response. Meanwhile, more messages had flooded his comm—replies from Poe and Jess and even Uncle Lando, who did not usually answer his comm in a timely manner.

From Armitage, there was nothing at all.

***

A few hours later, Armitage came home in an obvious mood. Ben could feel it as soon as his mate stepped over the threshold, through the Force and through their bond: a cloud of unhappiness that radiated from him. He decided not to press it then, sensing that any attempt to broach the subject would be poorly received. But it was no good to let Armitage stew all night, either.

“You all right?” Ben forced himself to ask, as they were washing up after dinner.

“Of course,” Armitage said tightly. He’d rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and he was scrubbing at a stubborn bit of residue on a pan.

Ben suppressed a sigh. “It was upsetting for me, too, you know,” he said, touching Armitage’s lower back. “It wasn’t just you.”

Armitage stiffened a little at his touch, which made Ben tense in kind. “I muted the conversation,” he said at last. “And I’d prefer not to discuss it anymore.”

That was Armitage’s go-to strategy, Ben knew, the only thing that really helped. Looking at other people’s pregnancy updates and birth announcements made him miserable, so when one of their friends was expecting a baby, Armitage typically muted them on all available channels. It became increasingly necessary as the two of them got older—these days, it seemed like all their friends and acquaintances had become parents.

It was almost impossible to avoid talking about babies and parenting when they were around Ben’s family, however, especially now that Rey was pregnant again. Even so, that ultrasound had felt like a punch to the gut. Ben could only imagine how sharp the sting was for Armitage. But unlike Ben, he still tended to closely guard his emotions, like a bad sabacc hand he was reluctant to reveal.

“Right,” Ben said, but the word felt hollow in his mouth.

When Armitage handed him the pan, scrubbed clean at last, he accepted it and dried it off in silence.

***

The wrapped box had holes in it, just in case, though Ben didn’t expect to keep the lid on for long. He could feel the object inside shifting around impatiently. Then he heard a pitiful little mewl.

Ben made a quiet shushing sound. “You’re going to ruin the surprise,” he whispered to the box as he stepped through the front door. Afternoon sunlight was slanting across the empty sitting room. “Just give me one minute, all right?”

“Ben, is that you?” Armitage called from another room.

“It’s me.” Ben had been offworld for several days—on one of Han’s jobs, this time, rather than his own.

He followed the sound of his mate’s voice down the hall, into their room, where Armitage was in the middle of changing the sheets on their bed. The light pouring through the window made his hair look brighter than usual, turning his eyelashes almost translucent.

Armitage turned his face to accept a kiss, then glanced at the box in Ben’s hands. “What have you got there?”

“I brought you a souvenir,” Ben said with a smile.

Armitage’s smile was a half-second delayed, and Ben remembered with a jolt that the last gift he’d brought home after a job was that stuffed tooka, intended for the baby. After the miscarriage, Ben had put the toy in a box and stowed it in their closet, out of sight. Somehow, it hadn’t felt right to throw it away.

“Just open it,” Ben told him, encouragingly. He could feel something shifting around inside the box again. “Seriously, there’s a time limit on this thing.”

Flashing Ben a skeptical look, Armitage lifted the lid. His eyes widened as a small, furry, orange head immediately poked out.

For a second, Armitage didn’t react except to stare at the squeaking kitten. “You brought me a cat,” he said at last.

“Yeah.” Ben scooped up the kitten with one hand. She was only about ten weeks old, he estimated, and small enough that he could easily hold her like this, even while she squirmed. Her little body felt fragile as he held her up so Armitage could get a closer look. “Cute, isn’t she?”

Armitage seemed too flustered to respond. “Where did she come from?” he asked, bewildered.

“Found her in a port on Baroonda,” Ben replied. “She was eating out of the garbage behind a noodle shop. Friendly little thing. She charged right at me.”

“So you decided to—what, bring her halfway across the galaxy, just like that?”

“Well, it was raining.”

“Ben,” Armitage said with a sigh.

“She was homeless,” Ben insisted. “What was I supposed to do?”

Armitage pinched the bridge of his nose. “There are laws that prohibit the transport of live animals to Chandrila,” he said.

Ben gave him a flat look. “You’re married to a smuggler,” he said.

Undeterred, Armitage said, “What am I supposed to do with a cat?”

“You love cats. You wanted a cat,” Ben told him. “Remember?”

“Well, yes, but…” Armitage looked conflicted. He used to talk about getting a cat—apparently he’d had one as a child and it was with him longer than his mother, passing away from old age a few years after she did.

But adopting a cat was one of many things they’d put on indefinite hold during treatment. Though Armitage was unlikely to contract toxoplasmosis from a healthy indoor cat, he was unwilling to risk it while they were actively trying, for the same reason he was unwilling to travel offworld—he was still holding out hope that something would work.

Even though they had decided to stop pursuing treatment, there was something final about moving forward with something that they had planned to do after they had a child. It was a bit like admitting defeat for a second time. Ben could see that now, when he looked at his mate's face. Maybe he had acted rashly.

Finally, Armitage sighed. “This was extremely unfair of you,” he said.

Ben shifted guiltily. “I thought—”

“Bringing this little thing home, knowing I wouldn't have the heart to get rid of it,” Armitage went on, shaking his head as he lifted the kitten out of Ben's hands and held her close to his chest. To the kitten, he said, “We’re going to take you to see a vet in the morning. And right now, we’re going to send Ben to the pet store for the things you need. Yes, we are…”

Ben smiled.

***

They named the cat Millicent.

Well, Armitage did—he said it suited her, claiming she looked like a Millicent. Ben let him have his way, though in truth, he thought the name was a bit stuffy for such a little cat. He supposed she’d grow into it.

Before long, Armitage had rearranged the house to accommodate the new arrival. Two cat trees sprang up, one near the big window in the sitting room (where Millicent liked to sunbathe) and another in one of the guest rooms, which quickly became Millicent’s dedicated space. Armitage put her little bed in that room, though she slept in their room more often than not, sometimes even at the foot of their bed. (Ben still wasn’t used to the feeling of Millicent’s four little paws clambering over him at night.)

Armitage also instructed Ben to install shelves at various heights, so when she grew a little bigger, Millicent would be able to circle the whole room without ever touching the floor—he’d gotten the idea from some HoloNet series about cat ownership.

“How pathetic is this?” Armitage asked suddenly, when Ben was in the middle of nailing a shelf to the wall. Millicent was purring contentedly in his arms.

Ben glanced over his shoulder. “What?”

“This,” Armitage said, somewhat fretfully, shifting Millicent into the crook of his arm so he could gesture to the entire room with his other hand. “On a scale of one to ten, how pathetic is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ben told him.

Armitage sighed through his nose. “I don’t want to be one of those people who spoil their cats because they can’t have a baby,” he said, even as he scratched the top of Millicent’s head with two fingers. When she rubbed at his hand, the little bell on her collar jingled.

Ben paused. Then, delicately, he said, “I’m pretty sure we’re past that point already.”

Armitage’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” Ben added quickly.

“You don’t really mean that,” Armitage said skeptically. He was still holding the cat.

“I think it’s good for you to have something to take care of,” Ben said—and he did, even if he also felt a little throb of pain when he thought of how much Armitage would’ve doted on their children. He would’ve been a good father. Despite the sadness, Ben made himself smile. “Besides, the cat was my idea.”

***

On a rainy Benduday, Ben walked into the sitting room and caught Armitage sniffling over a holonews segment.

“What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

“Nothing,” Armitage bleated as he hurried to switch the channel. Then his expression crumpled. He buried his face in his hands, curling into himself a little—frustrated, miserable. “Even the pfassking birds—”

The segment was about a pair of male porgs in an Outer Rim zoo. Unable to lay eggs of their own, the porgs nonetheless constructed an elaborate nest and attempted to incubate small stones they collected from around their enclosure. The porgs took turns sitting on the “eggs,” patiently waiting for them to hatch. Of course, they never did—but recently, the zookeepers took pity on the pair and gave them three eggs from the nest of another porg that had laid too many.

The porglets were expected to hatch soon. Apparently there was a holocam trained on the nest, so viewers could check in on the little family of birds.

Ben sat on the sofa with Armitage for some minutes, listening to him rant about the porgs, unsure of what to make of his reaction. Armitage wasn’t usually so affected by fluffy news stories that circulated on the HoloNet—but, Ben supposed, this one hit closer to home than most.

Eventually, Millie’s demands for food drew Armitage into the other room and seemed to take his mind off the porgs. They didn’t discuss the story again.

But a few days later, against his better judgement, Ben looked up the HoloNet feed. The porglets had hatched: delicate little things, covered in down, tucked into a nest that looked well-made. Ben caught himself sniffling a little, too, as he watched the father porgs tending to their tiny, helpless babies. The porgs’ eyes were huge and black and expressionless, but somehow, the creatures still managed to look content.

Before long, Ben had to turn off the feed. His eyes were stinging.

The little porg family was sweet, he thought. Sweet and absolutely maddening. He understood now why Armitage had been so outraged. The kriffing porgs got to be parents, but not them.

Sometimes it really did feel like the galaxy was laughing at them.

***

“I’m not going,” Armitage said, without hesitation, when the invitation came in.

Ben suppressed a sigh. “Armie…”

“Who has a baby shower for a third child?”

“It’s not a baby shower,” Ben felt compelled to point out.

Armitage rolled his eyes. “It’s tacky—that’s what it is,” he muttered.

Instead of a traditional shower, the invitation said, Leia planned to host a gathering of family and close friends to celebrate the new baby. The sentiment was nice, Ben supposed. But the moment Armitage thrust his datapad at Ben to show him the invitation that had just arrived, his heart dropped. Whenever he thought he was beginning to move on, there was some reminder that pulled the wound open again.

“Of course your mother sent the invitation to me, not you,” Armitage went on, sounding more annoyed by the second. “She always does. Apparently you can’t be expected to manage your own social calendar, but I’m an omega, so naturally, it’s my job—”

“I’m sure she didn’t mean it like that,” Ben tried.

“I don’t care how she meant it. I’m not going.”

“We can’t just blow it off,” Ben said with a sigh. He could sense that Armitage was getting worked up but knew better than to say so. “We’ve been dodging Rey for months.”

“Your point is?”

“It looks weird.”

“Says who?” Armitage said with a huff.

In fact, they had missed close to half of the monthly family dinners since Rey’s announcement, plus a handful of other casual get-togethers—sometimes because they’d taken a “spontaneous” weekend trip to Lake Andrasha, sometimes because they had a conflicting engagement which may or may not have actually existed. Ben knew the gatherings they did attend were frequently excruciating for Armitage, who had to listen to Rey complain about her pregnancy symptoms, as well as the difficulties of raising two (soon to be three) small children.

“You forget how exhausting all it is,” she said to Armitage the last time they were together. “You have to, or no one would ever have more than one.”

Armitage’s expression clouded over for a moment, and Ben knew what he was thinking: that he would give anything to be in her position, dealing with back pain and swollen feet.

All these months later, they rarely talked about the miscarriage, and Ben tried not to think about it. But the awareness of what they’d lost was always with him: a hard, painful spot in his chest, like a stone wedged between two of his ribs.

In the end, Armitage simply replied to Rey, “I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Then he’d moved to refill his glass. He’d taken to drinking his way through these get-togethers, which Ben did not begrudge him—but sometimes, he continued after he and Ben got home, until they went to bed.

“We’ve done this twice before,” Armitage said now, his mouth pressed into a thin line. “I don’t see why we have to do it a third time.”

“Because she’s my sister,” Ben said, exasperated. “How do you not get that? This is my family we’re talking about.”

Armitage’s jaw twitched. “What about me? Don’t I count as family?”

Ben fought the urge to grind his teeth. “Of course. They’re your family, too,” he said. “Even when you don’t act like it.”

“It’s sweet that you think that’s true,” Armitage said with a touch of bitterness.

“What do you expect me to do?” Ben asked. “Avoid her forever?”

“Obviously not. But—”

“But nothing. I’ve been bailing on her constantly, for you,” Ben said, before he had the chance to think it through all the way. Armitage winced a little at the words, and Ben felt a pang of regret. But there was no taking it back—and what he said was true. Hard as it was to be around her at times, he would’ve taken up most of Rey’s invitations, if not for Armitage. Instead, he’d sequestered himself with his mate. “What’s next, we have to skip Life Day because you don’t want to be around the baby?”

Armitage recoiled a little. “Ben,” he said, wounded.

“She’s my sister,” Ben said again, quieter this time, as if he could infuse an apology into his tone. “It’s hard for me, too. But I still want to support her as much as I can. Do you really not get that?”

That made Armitage frown. “Support?” he echoed, sounding affronted. “I’m your mate. I think I need your support a little more than she does right now.”

“Nodding along while you cut off my whole family isn’t support, Armie,” Ben said, before he could think to stop himself.

For a second, Armitage stared at him. Then he said, “You really don’t remember, do you?”

“Remember what?”

“The date. The kriffing date, Ben.” Armitage grabbed his datapad off the table and jabbed his finger at the date on the invitation Leia had sent. He was blinking furiously, and Ben noticed that his eyes looked suddenly damp. “I can’t believe you’re so self-centered that you actually forgot—”

Ben hesitated, struggling to remember if the two of them had made some plans that had since slipped his mind. Rey’s not-shower was scheduled for the middle of Month Eight. They had talked about traveling to see the Five Sabers on Theron, something they hadn’t done since they were newly married, but that was months in the future.

Then it hit him, like a punch to the gut.

The middle of Month Eight.

Their baby would’ve been due that same week. Of course Armitage would need him during that time.

“Oh,” Ben bleated, and it sounded weak even to his own ears.

He had been aware that the estimated due date was approaching. But he’d also been preoccupied with other things—plans that involved just the two of them. Focusing on their marriage and the parts of life that were open to them seemed like the way to find some measure of happiness outside of endless medical treatments.

“Would you have wanted me to say something?” Ben asked. It seemed like a fair question, in his view—Armitage never wanted to talk about the baby. He seemed to want it left in the past. How was Ben supposed to know his feelings had changed? He never gave any indication.

“I thought you would remember,” Armitage said in a hollow voice. “That’s all.”

“Armie…” Ben reached for him, out of instinct, but Armitage twisted away, stiff and unreachable. The rejection stung, even if Ben deserved it. He dropped his voice and lowered his own shoulders, conciliatory. “I’m sorry. You’re right—we don’t need to go.”

Armitage gave a watery scoff. He sniffed a little, lifting his chin. “There’s no ‘we,’” he said. “I don’t care what you do. But I won’t be there.”

“Can we just—” Ben tried, but his voice failed when he saw Armitage’s expression: hard and unreadable, like a wall thrown up to keep him out.

“Decide what’s important to you,” Armitage said, and it was Ben’s turn to flinch.

With that, Armitage swept out of the room.

For once, Ben didn’t go after him.

***

It wasn’t light or movement that woke Ben, but the feeling of being alone.

Eyes closed, he reached out with one hand and found the other side of the bed empty. The space Armitage usually occupied was cold, and when he peeled his eyes open, he saw that the blankets were folded back.

For a minute, Ben didn’t move to get up. He felt exhausted, bone-deep, in a way that was more than physical. He knew without knowing that Armitage was already gone—not to work, since the shop was normally closed on this day of the week, but somewhere else Ben knew he wouldn’t be welcome.

Rey’s party was this afternoon. Ben wasn’t looking forward to it, not anymore, nor did he relish having to make Armitage’s excuses once again. But there was nothing for it.

When he finally dragged himself out of bed, the light slanting through the blinds made his eyes water.

***

“A shame Armitage couldn’t make it,” Leia commented, glancing up at Ben. Now that the party was in full swing, the two of them had taken refuge in the quietest corner of the sitting room. On the balcony, Rey and Finn were mingling with the other guests while half a dozen children darted around the adults’ legs.

For this occasion, Leia’s hair was tied in a complicated braid and coiled around the top of her head, held in place by a dozen carved wooden pins. It was the same style she’d worn for gatherings before and shortly after the births of Rey’s first two children—a grandmother’s braid.

She would never wear her hair like this in acknowledgement of Ben’s child, he realized. The thought stung more than he would’ve expected. For each small bright spot he discovered in this new phase of life, there seemed to be an equal pain.

Ben cleared his throat. “He had an emergency at work,” he said—the old excuse. It was the same fib he’d told Rey when he arrived and she wondered aloud where his mate was. She was predictably disappointed, but at least there were plenty of other guests to distract her.

“A bookbinding emergency?” Leia raised her eyebrows.

“The antiquarian book business is cutthroat,” Ben said as he plucked a tiny sandwich off Leia’s plate and shoved it into his mouth. “You’d be surprised.”

Leia gave him a look of thinly-veiled exasperation. “Well, the gift was a nice touch,” she said. “Did Armitage choose it?”

Ben choked a little on the sandwich. “We picked it together,” he said, a blatant lie, and reached for a cup of water so he wouldn’t have to speak again for a moment.

He felt a twinge of guilt when he thought of it now, given Armitage’s previous comments about what was expected of omegas—but he really was used to his mate handling these things.

When Rey was expecting Nora, Armitage had carefully selected their baby shower gifts. For practical reasons, he bought a few baby outfits in various sizes and neutral colors. More personally, he acquired three slender volumes of children’s stories, traditionally printed, the kind he might sell in his shop. Ben knew it had taken him weeks to hunt down the specific books he’d had in mind. Rey seemed especially touched by that gift.

By the time Max came along, a couple of years later, Armitage was privately annoyed to have been invited to a baby shower for a second child. He seemed to resent the whole concept. Regardless, he chose a hover-stroller off the gift registry, making sure it was wrapped beautifully and delivered before the event.

In either case, all Ben had to do was fill out the card. After years of calligraphy practice, he had the better handwriting.

This time, however, the choice was Ben’s alone. Though the invitation specified that no gifts were expected, Ben knew that Leia would think it was strange for him to show up empty-handed—and he also knew better than to ask Armitage for his opinion on the matter. Ultimately, he followed his instincts and arrived at the party with an oversized plush blurrg and a card that he’d signed “Armitage and Ben.”

He glanced out at the balcony again, where Rey and Finn were chatting with Rose and Jess over glasses of sparkling cider. Behind them, the sun was dipping lower. Rey’s hair was done up in three braids, one for each of her children—a traditional style. Finn had one arm wrapped around her and kept leaning over to kiss her cheek. The sound of their laughter drifted across the apartment. They looked happy, Ben thought. He wondered what that was like.

“Ben,” Leia said after a moment. When he glanced over, she was watching him with a strange softness in her eyes. “Do you think I can’t tell when something’s bothering you?”

Ben felt his insides squirm. He opened his mouth to protest—and was saved when Max came careening out of the other room, the stuffed blurrg clutched in one hand as she barreled toward the sofa.

One of her socked feet slipped on the polished wooden floor, and Ben threw out one hand instinctively, using the Force to catch her before she could fall. With a gesture, he reoriented her and set her back on her feet.

Max looked up and around, puzzled, then gave a happy little scream when she realized what had happened. “Unca Ben!” she cried, and immediately hurtled toward him, as careless as before.

He lifted his hands again. “Careful, kiddo—”

“Again! Do it again—”

“What do we say first?” Ben asked, even as he crouched in front of her so they were at the same eye-level, because that was what Armitage would say if he were here. Stars, all of a sudden, Ben really wished he were here.

She gave him a put-upon look. “Please,” she said, drawn-out.

Ben barked a laugh—and then he relented, using the Force to levitate Max off her feet, which made her screech with excitement.

This, at least, was something he could do right.

***

True to his word, Armitage wasn’t there when Ben got home, just after dark.

Ben fed Millie and then considered turning in early, but the bed smelled too much like Armitage. It was a comfort, normally, but tonight, it was an acute reminder of his mate’s absence.

They could’ve spent this weekend at the lake, if Ben had thought it through, or on another planet entirely—someplace far away, where there was nothing to remind them of the fact that they should’ve been welcoming their child right around now.

But there were always reminders, he thought grimly, no matter where they went or who they were with. Families with small children at the grocery store, or in a restaurant, or on the street. An offhand joke about the fecundity of alpha-omega pairs. Casual invitations to other people’s baby showers.

Even the rerun of “Republic Medcenter” he was watching mindlessly in the sitting room, Millie purring loudly in his lap, featured an unrealistic surprise-pregnancy plot line that set his teeth on edge. These things never used to bother him before. Now he knew too much about how human reproduction worked—and didn’t work—to shut off his brain and simply take it in.

Halfway through the episode, he pulled out his comm and composed a message.

_ I should’ve been with you today. _

He stared at the message for half a minute before deleting it, unsent.

***

Ben woke on the sofa with a stiff neck, squinting against the blue glow of the holoset, which was playing at a low volume. All the other lights in the sitting room had been switched off.

What time was it? He didn’t even remember falling asleep.

As he pushed himself up onto his elbows, he realized that someone had draped a blanket over him—one taken from their bed. It carried both their scents.

_ Armie, _he thought blearily, pressing the blanket to his nose without really thinking about it. He must’ve come in after Ben fell asleep.

He eased himself off the couch and crept down the hall, to the darkened bedroom. Only a little moonlight slipped around the curtains, but he saw the shape of his mate under a heap of blankets. Millie was curled up near his feet.

For a minute, Ben lingered at the door, unsure of himself in a way that surprised him. Then he crossed the room, pulled back the blankets and climbed onto the bed, slowly, silently willing the mattress not to dip too noticeable with his weight. Millie’s tail flicked, like she sensed him even in her sleep, but she didn’t stir, and neither did Armitage.

Ben stretched out carefully beside Armitage: hesitant, close enough to touch. If he held his breath, he could hear Armitage breathing instead.

The narrow space between them felt a mile wide.

***

In the morning, neither of them broached of where they’d been yesterday or what happened after they came home.

Like so many aspects of their marriage in recent years, it was as if it never happened at all.

***

Suspended high above the Polis district, the Skygarden was one of the most beautiful locations in Hanna City. When Ben and Rey were kids, Leia used to bring them here for educational reasons—this was where citizens gathered to publicly debate politics, a favorite pastime on Chandrila. Back then, Leia had thought that one or both of her children might follow her into politics someday, so she wanted to expose them to the process early.

In reality, Ben and Rey usually just ended up chasing each other through the sprawling botanical garden, hiding among the carefully cultivated foliage and interrupting people in the middle of debate. Ben had been a little old for those games, probably, but Rey made it easy to get swept up in her fantasies.

It was in the gardens that Rey asked Ben to meet her later that week, alone. The air was thick with the smell of flowers, and outside, it was misting rain, water beading along the clari-crystalline dome that covered the gardens.

“Remember the time Mom brought us here to watch some important discussion, and she found us hours later, huddled under the musk-roses?” Rey asked as the two of them strolled along the winding paths, familiar to them both after so many visits over the years. For all that she complained about her swollen feet, she insisted on being on them all the time; Rey never slowed down for anything.

“Yeah,” Ben said. “We thought she must’ve used the Force to track us down, but she said she didn’t need to—”

“Because she could hear us laughing,” Rey finished. “Stars, I almost forgot that part.”

Ben could almost see Leia’s expression in his mind’s eye: exasperated, but fond. She was smiling then. It would be a few more years—and, in Ben’s case, a failed term in the Apprentice Legislature—before she seemed to accept that neither Ben nor Rey was cut out for politics, after all.

They were passing under the branches of a tree that frothed with sachi blossoms when Rey touched Ben’s elbow, glancing up at him. “How come Armie’s avoiding me?” she asked.

Ben almost stumbled. Then he tried for a neutral tone. “I don’t know what you mean. He’s not avoiding you—”

“Ben.” She gave him a level look. “I’m not stupid. You don’t have to spare my feelings. He’s been distant for months. I was hoping to see you both at the party this week, at least, but he blew it off.” She pressed her lips together, and Ben knew her well enough to see in her eyes that it pained her. Armitage was her friend before he was her brother-in-law. “I just want to understand. I thought we were close. If I’ve done something to upset him—”

“You haven’t,” Ben said. Then he grimaced. “I mean—it’s not that simple.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Ben suppressed a sigh. Then he gently steered Rey toward the nearest bench, near a patch of blooming star-mist. “You can’t talk to Armie about this,” he said at last, sitting beside her. “Or anyone else. I mean it.”

Her eyes darkened, and Ben could almost see her mind racing, turning over a dozen awful scenarios. “Is it something serious?”

“Everything’s fine.” The lie burned a little in his throat.

“But?” she prompted.

He never could lie to her. Not much, anyway. She had a way of seeing through him.

“But,” he acknowledged. Then he swallowed, steeling himself. “We’ve been trying to have a baby for a while. It… hasn’t gone well.”

“You have?” There was a note of surprise in her voice. “Since when?”

He almost didn’t want to answer, because it highlighted how deeply unsuccessful they’d been. “About six years now.”

Rey stared at him. “You’re kidding,” she said at last.

“Afraid not.” All of a sudden, Ben didn’t know quite where to look, or what to do with his hands. He settled for digging his fingernails into the heels of his hands while he glanced out across the garden.

“Six years, and you never told me?” Her voice was soft but incredulous. “Ben—”

“We haven’t told anyone,” he said, and it felt strange to hear it out loud, in his own voice.

Rey was shaking her head in confusion. “We’re your family,” she said, a bit helplessly.

“Exactly,” Ben told her. “You think we wanted Mom badgering us about how it’s going, or Dad not knowing what to say?”

There was more to it, of course—the layers of shame and despair that Armitage had wrapped himself in, which grew heavier with each year that passed, and Ben’s assurances that no one had to know. For years, they’d hoped that they would one day announce a pregnancy to Ben’s family without having to share how much they’d struggled to make it happen. A shared delusion, Ben thought now. They had both wanted so badly for it to happen for them the way it happened for everyone else.

“I see your point,” Rey said after a moment. “But that’s a hell of a thing not to share with anyone.”

Ben’s shoulders stiffened. “It’s private,” he said. Despite much he’d wished he could be open about their difficulties—or maybe because of it—he suddenly felt exposed, like Rey could see him too clearly. This, he knew, was what Armitage had been afraid of. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

She furrowed her brow. “Ben…”

He coughed a little into his hand. “We’ve tried everything by now. Everything,” he added, in response to Rey’s questioning look. “We did another IVF cycle earlier this year. Our third round. First time it ever worked. We were waiting for the right time to tell everyone. But we, ah—” He cleared his throat, and even when he looked out across the water again, he could feel Rey’s eyes on him. “We lost it.”

“You…”

“Armie had a miscarriage.” He pronounced the last word carefully—it felt sharp, like it could cut his mouth. Come to think of it, he wasn’t sure he’d ever spoken about the loss in such frank terms. He and Armitage were always mincing delicately around the subject. “Right after that, you told us you were having another baby. So it was just—bad timing for us.”

“Oh, Ben.” Rey had one hand clamped over her mouth, speaking softly through her fingers. Her eyes were wide and warm and sorrowful. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea—”

“That was the point,” Ben reminded her. His shoulders were still braced, defensive, as he cleared his throat again. “It’s not that he’s not happy for you.” At least, Ben wanted to believe that. Somewhere, under the grief and bitterness, he hoped that some part of Armitage was happy for Rey, the way Ben was struggling to be. “But—the baby would’ve been due this week. So it’s been hard on him. That’s all.”

Rey let out a breath, shaking her head. “I never would’ve guessed. I mean—you’re an alpha-omega pair,” she said. Ben used to think the same thing—that infertility didn’t happen to couples like them. All his life, no one had ever warned him. She bit her lip. “Do you know what the problem is?”

He heard the question she wasn’t asking: _ Whose fault is it? _

“Do you really want to hear about my sperm?” he deadpanned. “Or my knot, maybe? Because I can tell you all about both of those things—”

“Nope! No—let’s leave that to the imagination,” Rey said quickly. Based on her grimace, Ben guessed that she now realized what an invasive question that was.

Neither of those things were the problem, of course, as far as anyone could tell. All tests were inconclusive, and their official diagnosis was “unexplained.” But he didn’t want her to think, even for a moment, that there was an issue with Armitage. Better she assume it was Ben—not the whole truth, perhaps, but not a complete lie.

Over the last few years, Ben had sometimes wished there was an obvious problem with his sperm—low count, poor motility or morphology, a varicocele that could be surgically corrected. He longed for a concrete reason, so he could take the blame and Armitage could stop blaming himself for a struggle that appeared to be no one’s fault.

Armitage had always suspected that he was the cause of their infertility, though he couldn’t prove it. After the miscarriage, he became even more convinced that some anatomical or hormonal issue within his body was what kept them from having a child. Nothing Ben said could dissuade him.

Rey cleared her throat. “Do you have another round of IVF planned?” she asked eventually.

Ben had hoped she wouldn’t ask that question. He should’ve known better. There it was, he thought: the benefit of keeping their struggles private.

“No,” he admitted—not wanting to answer, but not wanting to lie, either. He’d spent years lying to his whole family, by omission and outright. “No, we, ah… I think we’re done.”

Strange, he thought, that he never admitted to Rey that he wanted to be a father until after he was sure that he never would be.

For a moment, Rey studied him, her eyes swimming with concern. Then she dropped her voice. “Is it… is it a money thing? Because I’m sure Mom would—”

“What, front the credits? Kriff, Rey. It’s not about money.” Treatment was expensive, but they managed to afford it. Even if that weren’t the case, he couldn’t imagine asking his mother to help them pay for IVF. Leia would surely agree—and in accepting her help, they would open themselves to a new level of scrutiny. The last thing Ben wanted, and the last thing Armitage needed, was for Leia to be literally invested in the outcome of their treatment. “We ran out of options, Rey. We’ve tried everything, and nothing worked. After a certain point, you have to let go.” 

“Have you considered adoption?” she asked, almost without hesitation.

Ben felt his teeth clench. He should’ve anticipated that question, too. “It’s been six years, Rey. Six years. Do you really think we’ve never looked into it?”

In the early days after the infertility diagnosis, adoption came up in many of their long talks about how far they were willing to go.

Chandrila had an exceptionally low birth rate. Few children of any age were placed for adoption on this planet, and the approval process was notoriously challenging. Even if they were approved, it would probably be years before they were matched with a child. They might never be matched at all.

Interplanetary adoption was even more complicated. Precedence was given to adoptive parents who resided on the same world as the child, making it unlikely that Ben and Armitage would be approved to adopt on another planet in the first place.

Once, Armitage admitted that he was afraid of rejection. He hated the thought of going through the rigorous, draining, rather invasive approval process only to have an adoption agency conclude that they weren’t good enough to be parents.

More than that, he feared that they would be approved and later matched with a child—and the adoption would fall through at the last minute. Birth parents sometimes changed their minds before the adoption process was complete. Armitage’s worst nightmare was getting attached to a child who could be taken away.

Ben understood. He shared the same fears—the last one above all. In the end, they decided that adoption wasn’t right for them. There were too many variables. In some ways, it was even riskier than IVF.

“How do you think adoption works?” Ben asked Rey, sharper than he meant to. There was a tightness in his throat, a little painful. “You don’t just—go to the baby store and pick one out. There’s a whole process. It’s complicated, and expensive, and it can take years. No guarantees, either. It’s not some magical solution to all our problems—”

“Okay, okay,” Rey said, lifting her hands in surrender. “I get it.”

She didn’t, though, Ben thought with more than a touch of bitterness. She had no idea.

“I just wish you’d said something before,” she went on. “I mean, I understand why you didn’t. But all those times someone asked when you were planning to have kids—” She looked suddenly pained. “Stars, I figured you didn’t want kids at all.”

More than once, Ben had wished that were the case—that childlessness had been their choice. Instead, the universe had chosen for them.

“We wanted kids,” Ben told her, in a quiet voice.

It felt almost unallowed to admit that much, after holding it inside for years. Still, the past tense didn’t feel quite like the truth. He still wanted, so badly that it made his teeth ache. He didn’t have the words to explain it.

“So there’s nothing you can do?” Rey asked, a pinched look on her face, like she could change his answer if she only phrased her question the right away.

Ben looked at his own hands: palms up, empty. “It doesn’t happen for some people,” he said, recalling what Armitage had said to him the day they agreed to stop trying.

_ I just didn’t think it would be us. _

He tensed a little when Rey laid her hand over his wrist. “That must be so hard,” she said, gently, and somehow, that was what did it.

Ben cleared his throat, but the painful tightness didn’t ease. “Yeah,” he said, and his voice creaked. He rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. There was a strange relief in admitting that much—and hearing another person acknowledge it. He took a shuddering breath. “Yeah, it is.”

The wind ruffled Ben’s hair as he hunched forward and Rey settled her other hand between his shoulders.

***

In the weeks that followed, Rey stopped mass-messaging the family about the baby. Ben could only assume that she was sharing her updates with everyone individually now, because he continued to hear news from Leia, secondhand.

The next time the family met for dinner at Han and Leia’s home, there was less baby-talk than usual. More than once, Rey steered the conversation to other topics—like the upcoming Five Sabers on Theron, which Han was managing again, or the conference on Eufornia Major at which Armitage had officially agreed to present.

Ben was privately grateful. Under the table, he kept his hand on Armitage’s knee.

Life went on. It always did.

This time, at least, Ben and Armitage seemed to be moving along with it.

***

It was a boy, after all.

They named him Theodore but planned to call him Teddy.

Ben suspected that he was the last to know, or possibly the second to last. He learned of his nephew’s birth several hours after the fact, while he was cooking dinner, through a message sent from Rey’s comm. There was no picture attached—an attempt, Ben suspected, to be sensitive.

He appreciated the gesture. He really did. But he still felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

All those years ago, when Rey went into labor with Nora, she’d let Ben know while Finn was driving her to the medcenter. On Rey’s request, he and Armitage had come to see the baby almost immediately after she was born. Ben had been so excited then, eager to meet his niece.

He remembered holding Nora for the first time, inexperienced and a little unsure, only to glance up and catch Armitage watching him with a knowing smile. Back then, they’d thought they would be in the same place next year, with a baby of their own.

It was much the same when Max was born—and though it was harder the second time, Ben had gone to the medcenter without hesitation, because his sister wanted him there.

This time, he knew she wouldn’t ask.

She intended it as a kindness, Ben knew. And it was a kindness. But there was a space between them that didn’t exist before. His relationship with Rey was different now that he’d opened up to her, he realized, for better or for worse.

“What is it?” Armitage asked, when he walked into the kitchen and found Ben staring at his comm while the vegetables remained unchopped.

Ben hesitated. “Rey had the baby,” he said at last.

Armitage schooled his features into a neutral expression. “Ah,” he said, and there was so much in that one syllable: a dozen emotions blended together. He seemed to brace himself. “Are we meant to go visit, then?”

“Not right away, I don’t think,” Ben said slowly. Leia and Han were probably at the medcenter right now, he thought, getting acquainted with their new grandchild. He wondered how Rey had explained his absence, when he’d always been around before.

Armitage hesitated. “Right. Well. Was it…”

“A boy, yeah. They’re calling him Teddy.”

“That’s—nice,” Armitage said, and despite everything, Ben thought he meant it.

Later, when Ben mustered the strength to reply to Rey’s message, he asked her to send a holo.

***

By the time Ben and Armitage arrived at the cottage, ostensibly for an adults-only meal, Rey and Finn were in the middle of a bedtime routine for their older children that had apparently dragged on longer than usual.

In the sitting room, Finn was attempting to wrangle Max, who had obviously just had a bath and was naked except for a fluffy towel she had decided to wear like a cape. He had six-month-old Teddy balanced in the crook of his other arm; the baby was wailing. Elsewhere, Ben could hear Rey negotiating with Nora about how many bedtime stories they would read.

“Perfect timing,” Finn said, sounding genuinely relieved when he saw two adults enter the home and realized he was no longer outnumbered. He hurried to greet them at the door, shifting Teddy in his arms. “Okay, I’m going to give you to Uncle Armie for a minute…”

“Oh, I don’t think—” Armitage protested weakly, but when Finn blithely pushed the baby into his hands, he elected to hold Teddy rather than drop him. “You really ought to consider a nanny droid.”

“Very funny,” Finn said as he quickly wrapped Max in her towel, scooped her up and carried her out of the room, leaving Armitage and Ben alone with the still-screaming baby.

“I can take him,” Ben offered.

Armitage shook his head with a sigh. “No, it’s all right,” he said, settling Teddy against his shoulder and bouncing him a little. Between Nora and Max, he was fairly well-practiced at this, though it had been a while. “Hush, now, no need for all that…”

Within a few minutes, Teddy was dozing in uncle’s arms, one chubby cheek squished against his collarbone. Armitage kept rubbing the baby’s little back with one hand.

For years, it had been a kind of running joke among Ben’s extended family that Armitage was so good with babies despite having none of his own. It was either written off as an “omega thing,” intrinsic and inscrutable, or pointed to as another reason why he and Ben should stop tooling around and have some children already. They had been able to laugh about it once, when they were still hopeful. But as time went on, each comment seemed to grind Armitage down more.

Neither of them had spent much time with Teddy yet—not half as much as they’d spent around Nora and Max when they were his age. They didn’t meet the new baby until after Rey and Teddy came home from the medcenter, at which point another gathering—this one smaller, quieter and more intimate than the not-shower—was held at the cottage. Ben and Armitage paid a visit, then made their excuses and slipped out.

Ben felt more than a little guilty about it at the time, but there was a strange sense of relief, too. When he was with his family, he had to put on a certain face; when he was alone with Armitage, there was no pressure. Whatever he felt, his mate understood.

In the months since then, Ben had accepted a number of jobs that took him offworld, while Armitage focused on his own work—and on Millicent, who now sometimes accompanied him to the shop. They both attended the conference on Eufornis Major and impulsively decided to remain planetside for the rest of that week, playing tourist.

They recently celebrated their ninth wedding anniversary in a resort among the snow-capped mountains of Mon Torri, a Mid-Rim world wreathed in ice. (Armitage did not ski, and neither did Ben. Instead, they kept warm in the lodge.)

Mon Torri was surrounded by seven rings, each one a different color and composition. The rings could be seen from the planet’s surface; Ben recalled gazing up at them through the windows as he and Armitage lay in bed at night, a fireplace crackling on the other side of the room.

Back on Chandrila, they had attended the usual get-togethers, but did not otherwise engage much with the family. Rey didn’t seem to begrudge them their distance during this time, though Leia had commented more than once. Ben never knew quite what to tell her.

“I’m glad you could make it tonight,” Rey said eventually. After a later-than-planned dinner, the four of them had retired to the sitting room, and she was cuddled up beside Finn on the sofa, her feet tucked underneath her. One of Finn’s arms was wrapped around her shoulders. “We’ve missed you. The girls especially.”

“Right. Well,” Armitage said, a bit awkwardly. He and Ben were seated on the other sofa, adjacent to Rey and Finn. “With any luck, things will quiet down for us this year.”

“Speaking of plans,” Finn said. “There’s something we wanted to talk about with you guys.”

Beside him, Armitage tensed, almost imperceptibly. Ben knew what he must be thinking, because he was thinking it, too: _She can’t be pregnant again already. Can she?_

“Yeah?” Ben asked, cautiously. He laid his hand over Armitage’s knee, hoping it looked like a casual gesture and not like he was desperate for something to hold onto in case the ground dropped out from under him.

“Finn and I have been talking, and…” Rey took a breath and glanced at her husband, who gave her a small, reassuring smile. Then she turned back to Ben and Armitage. “If you’d like—I would be happy to have your baby for you.”

The world seemed to grind to a halt. For a second, nobody moved.

Armitage recovered first, though his voice was strained. “I beg your pardon?”

“Not right away, of course,” Rey said, lifting one hand in a placating gesture. “You’re supposed to wait a while between pregnancies. Eighteen months or so, ideally. It would be almost a year from now, probably, at the earliest. But we wanted you to know that we’re offering, so you have time to think it over.”

“Hold on. Let me get this straight,” Ben said. He was struggling to process what he’d just heard, half certain he’d misunderstood. “You’re saying that you…”

“I’m offering to be your surrogate,” Rey said. Her smile was small but earnest. “With your genetic material, of course. It would be your baby. I would just carry it for you.”

Armitage sputtered. When he leaned forward, just far enough to set his glass on the coffee table, Ben saw that his hand was shaking. “There must be some confusion,” he said, sounding like he was fighting to keep his voice even. “I’m not sure what makes you think that’s something either of us would be remotely interested in—”

“Ben explained your situation to me,” Rey said in a gentle voice, and Ben’s stomach dropped to somewhere around his knees.

“What?” Armitage sounded like he was choking.

“I can’t imagine how hard it’s been for you both. And I’m sorry if we made it harder, especially this last year.” Rey straightened, hands clasped together in her lap. “I know the two of you have decided to stop trying on your own. But ever since Ben told me about what you’ve been going through, it’s really weighed on my heart.”

“Rey,” Ben said, reeling. He felt lightheaded all of a sudden. Unbalanced.

“I know,” she said, apologetic and appealing all at once. “I thought about it for months before I said a word to Finn. But when I did, we agreed that—well, maybe I could help you.” She looked at Armitage again. His face had gone white with shock. “I have a good track record with these things. Honestly, I never minded being pregnant. I’d be happy to do it again for you, really—”

“Stop it,” Armitage said, sharply enough that Rey leaned back a little, blinking. He seemed to be struggling to control his tone. “Just—please stop talking.”

“That’s, ah—” Ben’s mouth felt as dry as the Jakku desert. “Kind of a lot to process.”

“Nobody has to make any decisions right now,” Finn said diplomatically. “We just wanted you to know it’s on the table, if that’s what you want.”

Armitage sucked in a breath. When Ben reached for his hand, he pulled it out of reach without looking at him. “I don’t know what Ben might have told you,” Armitage said to Rey, his voice low and thin. “But surrogacy is not an option we’re considering.”

Rey’s eyes were soft. “Armie…”

“If you’ll excuse me—” Armitage stood and went directly for the door.

Ben hurried after him, avoiding Rey’s and Finn’s gazes as he ducked out into the cool night air.

The stars had come out. In the distance, he could see the warm glow of Hanna City. Armitage was attempting to get into their speeder, but swore under his breath when he realized the doors were locked.

“Are you really just going to storm out?” Ben asked, following him. It was cold enough that Ben could see his breath on the air, a faint cloud of smoke. “That’s how you want to leave it?”

“You’re free to stay as long as you’d like,” Armitage said tightly. “Give me the keys.”

“We drove here together,” he said.

“Frankly, Ben, I don’t care how you get home.”

“Armie—”

“Give me the pfassking keys.” Armitage’s voice jumped. He still wasn’t looking at Ben. “I can’t be here.”

Ben exhaled through his nose, willing himself to stay calm. Then he reached around Armitage to unlock the door. “I’ll drive,” he said.

***

Ben gripped the steering wheel a little too hard, braced for a screaming match almost as soon as he pulled the speeder onto the road. His mate was practically radiating anger and woundedness—Ben expected him to snap at any moment, now that they were alone. But instead, Armitage was disconcertingly quiet during the drive home, which felt about twice as long as usual. His silence set Ben on edge, waiting for an explosion that wouldn’t come.

Even when they arrived at home, Armitage said nothing, just pushed wordlessly past Ben and walked into the kitchen to pour himself two fingers of Corellian whiskey. The bottle was a gift from Han that they’d received last Life Day. Armitage had only opened the bottle last week; now it was mostly empty.

Ben lingered by the kitchen door, watching Armitage at the counter. “Look. I know you’re upset,” Ben said slowly.

Armitage set the glass bottle on the counter with a thunk. Then his shoulders went taut, like he was bracing himself. “So was it your idea, then?”

“What?”

“Did you ask your sister if she would be our surrogate?” Armitage asked, without turning to look at Ben. “Because I’m not good enough?”

Ben huffed a breath, surprised. “You can’t really think that,” he said.

“I don’t know what to think.” Armitage finally turned to face Ben, mouth tight. “Don’t lie to me, Ben. Don’t you dare lie—”

“Of course it wasn’t my idea,” Ben told him. They had discussed surrogacy in general terms, both recognizing that it was an option, but they had never seriously considered it. That was why Ben had been so blindsided by Rey’s offer. It had never crossed his mind that someone other than Armitage might carry their baby for them, especially not Rey. He’d never wanted that. “Kriff, Armie, I would never—”

“Never what?” Armitage’s eyes were hard. “Never share our private medical information with your sister?” He took a gulp of his drink, as though fortifying himself. “A few hours ago, I would’ve believed that.”

Ben felt his jaw clench. “Can you stop drinking long enough to have a conversation with me?” he asked tightly.

Rolling his eyes, Armitage tossed back the rest of the whisky and set the glass down. “How could you do this, Ben?” His voice shook a little when he said Ben’s name—with anger or disdain or some other emotion that was harder to identify. “You have _ humiliated _ me. You have betrayed my trust—”

“You gave me no choice!” Ben snapped. He could feel his own pulse kicking up. “My whole family’s been wondering what’s wrong—why we barely come around anymore, and why you act like someone’s holding you at blasterpoint when we do. I had to explain to Rey, so she wouldn’t think you’re just being an ass—which you have been,” he added. “For months.”

Armitage swallowed. “You know what this has been like for me,” he said, quieter.

Ben went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “So, yeah, I told Rey. I also asked her not to spread it around—but she did,” he said. In hindsight, he supposed he should’ve expected her to share that information with her husband, in the same way that Ben probably would’ve told Armitage if their roles were reversed. He had no secrets from his mate. At least, he wasn’t supposed to. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

At that, Armitage bristled. “It was our private business,” he said, scowling. “We agreed—”

“No,” Ben cut across him, sharply. “We never agreed. You dictated and I went along. I never wanted it to be a secret—”

“Of course you’d say that. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Ben threw up his hands in frustration. “We’re unexplained! There’s no reason to think it’s you—”

“Well, it’s obviously not you—all your tests came back perfect.” Armitage made no attempt to disguise the bitterness in his voice. “And if it’s not you, then it must be me.”

Ben made an effort not to wince. “Don’t say that.”

“Who else knows about my… defect?” His tone was demanding. “Your parents? Your whole family?”

“I only told Rey,” Ben insisted. Did his mate really not believe him?

Armitage scoffed, like he thought Ben was being particularly thick. “And who else do you imagine she’s told by now? Not just Finn. Honestly, Ben, use your head—”

“You know what? I hope she did,” Ben said suddenly, before he had a chance to think better of it. He was surprised to hear himself speak the words—and was even more surprised to realize that he meant them. “I hope she told my whole kriffing family, and Poe, and anyone else she happened to run into—”

“So they can all look at me the way she did tonight?” Armitage said. “Is that what you want?”

“What are you talking about?”

“She pities me, Ben,” Armitage said. His voice was thick with disgust, but all of a sudden, Ben wasn’t sure if he was repulsed by Rey or by himself. “Do you really not see that? She wants to do me the honor of loaning me her perfect kriffing uterus. But I don’t want her pity. I don’t need it—”

“Kriff, can you hear yourself? You make everything about you—”

“And you make everything my fault!” Armitage snapped. “Every conflicting appointment, every time we couldn’t travel, you were happy to pin the blame on me—”

“Because I couldn’t tell the truth!” Ben’s voice was rising to a shout. He struggled to get his volume under control. “It was a _relief_ to tell Rey about this. We’ve been going through this for years, Armie, and I needed to talk to someone. And we both know I can’t talk to you.”

“That’s not fair to me, Ben,” Armitage said, and his eyes looked a little softer—bruised, like Ben had hurt him.

“You think that’s unfair?” Ben echoed. His skin felt too hot and about two sizes too small. He thought suddenly of the waiting room at the clinic: the countless hours he’d spent hunched in one of those hard plastic chairs, staring at posters for the support group Armitage insisted they didn’t need to attend. And maybe Ben wouldn’t have needed it, he thought now, bitterly, if he’d been able to count on any support from his mate. “I’ll tell you what’s unfair—”

“Ben—”

“I had to keep the biggest part of my life a secret, for years, because you wanted me to be as ashamed as you are,” Ben spat. He could hear his voice rising, felt his throat burning, but the words were spilling out of him now, unstoppable. “Our baby died without anyone even knowing it existed because of your fucking fixation!”

Armitage’s face drained of all color. He looked stunned, like he’d been surprised by a blow.

Looking at him, Ben felt abruptly nauseated—he’d gone too far. But the blood was still rushing in his ears, and his pulse was still slamming so hard he could feel it through his whole body, and he wasn’t ready to beg forgiveness. The anger was too fresh.

After a second, Armitage said, in a low voice, “Get out.”

Ben lifted his hands, half placating and half frustrated. “Armie—”

“Get out!”

“I’m not going anywhere. This is my house—”

“I’m sure your sister will take you in!” Armitage fired back. His voice was shaking, and his hands were clenched into fists. He looked like he wanted to punch something. “I want you out now—”

A frustrated noise escaped Ben. Even now, Armitage wouldn’t talk to him about their problems—he’d rather push his mate away. But two could play at that game.

“You want to be alone so badly?” he yelled. “You got it!”

He turned his back on Armitage, then, and stomped out of their house, slamming the door behind him.

***

“Master Ben! Always a pleasure to see you.” Even at this time of night, C-3PO was exuberantly polite as he opened the door to Han and Leia’s apartment. When he looked over Ben’s shoulder, his eye-lights were about as curious as a droid’s could look. “Is Master Armitage with you?”

“Not tonight, Threepio,” Ben said wearily. He didn’t have it in him just now to match the droid’s enthusiasm. Most of the anger had bled out of him on the drive into the city, leaving only bone-deep exhaustion and regret. He edged past Threepio to enter the apartment. “Are my parents in?”

“Your mother is out at the moment, I’m afraid,” Threepio said, trailing after Ben. “But your father—”

“Ben, is that you I hear?” Han called from the next room.

“Yeah.” Part of Ben had wished the place would be empty, so he wouldn’t have to explain right away. Of course he couldn’t be that lucky.

When he stepped into the sitting room, he found Han on the couch, watching some kind of pod race in a snowy planet. “It’s the middle of the night,” Han said, glancing up at him.

Ben shifted from foot to foot. “I know.”

“What, did Red finally kick you out?” Han asked with a little huff. When Ben didn’t laugh or roll his eyes, Han blinked. He dropped his voice. “Kriff, kid—I was joking. Did he really?”

“No. It was—mutual,” Ben said. The lie felt awkward in his mouth.

Han’s brow furrowed. “What did you do?”

“Maybe he did something,” Ben said, bristling instinctively. “Why do you assume I’m the one who did something?”

Han gave him a flat look.

Ben scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing. “Can I crash here tonight or not?”

“That serious, huh?” Han shook his head. “Good thing the sofa’s free.”

***

Han’s ability to step back from a situation was one of his best qualities, Ben thought—a quality that neither Leia nor Luke appeared to possess. In the early days after he left Luke’s school, Han was the only person who didn’t demand to know what he was thinking and feeling at every moment of the day. He felt like he could breathe around Han.

The same was true now: Han didn’t press the issue. He just tossed Ben a can of rhyll beer and let him slump on the other end of the couch, watching the podrace without really taking it in. Ben was privately grateful. Sometimes quiet companionship was enough.

They had switched to some kind of Mandalorian sports programming when the front door slid open with a soft pneumatic hiss and Leia swept into the room. She was dressed for dinner with colleagues, in a dark gray suit. Her hair was braided into a single plait and wound up in a knot.

“Rey commed me,” Leia said, as Ben was straightening up in his seat.

He immediately sank back again, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him. Of course she had, Ben thought. It seemed like a cosmic joke. He was getting exactly what he’d told Armitage he wanted—but now he wasn’t sure why he’d wanted it at all, except to spite his mate.

“Would you like to know why?” Leia asked as she crossed the room, in a tone that impled his answer didn’t really matter.

Ben felt his stomach twisting in knots as he wondered how much Rey had shared with their mother about what happened tonight. “I have some idea,” he muttered.

“Apparently your husband commed her, distraught, wanting to know where you were. She had no idea, of course, because she hadn’t heard from you, and you weren’t answering your comm—”

“He did what?” Ben straightened fully this time. Distraught? That didn’t sound like Armitage—Armitage, who didn’t want anyone to know their personal business. Armitage, who had demanded that Ben leave their home. Rey must have been exaggerating or confused.

“I take it you’ve been here the whole time,” Leia went on, as if he hadn’t spoken. Then she sighed. “What happened?”

Han eased himself off the couch. “I’m going to grab another drink,” he said, to no one in particular, and slipped into the kitchen.

Ben watched him go with more than a little longing. Leave it to Han to escape a situation the moment he sensed it was about to get uncomfortable.

His whole body felt tense as he joined Leia on the balcony, but the cool night air helped. Below them, the city glowed, and music floated up from the balcony on the floor below them. It sounded like the downstairs neighbors were having a party.

“She told you everything,” Ben said, leaning against the rail. It wasn’t a question.

The last time Leia looked at him like this, soft-eyed and sorrowful, was on this same balcony, the night he came home to Chandrila after finding out that he would never be a Jedi. “Yes,” she said, gently, like she was breaking bad news. “She wants to help, Ben.”

He knew that. He believed it, even. But it didn’t make him feel any better.

“She doesn’t know what she’s offering,” Ben replied. Before anything else, Rey would have to endure a battery of invasive tests. Then, while Armitage went through the ordeal that preceded an egg retrieval, Rey would undergo a similar process to prepare her own body for an embryo transfer. Ben had always known, intellectually, that IVF was hard. But he never knew how hard it was until he watched his mate go through it. “The medications, and the testing, and the monitoring—” He broke off, shaking his head. “She doesn’t get it.”

Leia was quiet for a moment. “Your father and I weren’t supposed to be able to have children,” she said. “It’s something we had to make our peace with.”

Like Armitage, Han was an omega—but apparently, in his youth, a blaster bolt to the abdomen had necessitated the removal of his uterus. Leia, meanwhile, was an alpha, which made her unlikely to conceive at all, especially with an omega partner. Ben was a surprise, to be sure, though Leia claimed he was a welcome one.

“But you did have kids,” Ben felt compelled to point out. He couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. “Two of them.”

Even before the infertility diagnosis, Ben knew there was more than one way to have a child. He was Han and Leia’s biological son, while Rey’s adoption had fallen into place so serendipitously that Luke once said it must’ve been the will of the Force that she joined their family. There would be no such miraculous occurrence for Armitage and Ben.

“I don’t mean to diminish what you’re going through,” Leia said delicately. “I just think we might’ve understood your situation more than you realized, if you’d given us a chance.” She laid her hand on his arm, sighing. “I wish you’d told us sooner.”

“Me, too,” Ben admitted. This really wasn’t how he’d pictured opening up to his family about their struggles. Nothing in life seemed to go the way he planned.

“Rey seemed to think that her… offer sparked some kind of disagreement between you and Armitage.”

Ben shrugged. “Yes and no,” he said at last. “It—dredged up some things.”

“She’s worried that she offended you.”

At that, he sighed through his nose. “She assumed a lot,” he said, and he thought that was putting it mildly. “What she offered—it’s not something we were considering.”

Leia was quiet for a moment, as if weighing her words. “I understand that Armitage probably wants to experience pregnancy,” she said finally. “That’s a natural urge—even more so for an omega, I’d imagine. But if he’s not able—”

“Mom.” It came out sharper than Ben intended, almost a bark. He wrapped one hand around the top of the rail, gripping it hard enough to feel grounded. “We’re done with treatment. All kinds. We did it for six years, and we’re done.”

“If money is an obstacle, I would be more than willing to—”

“Mom,” Ben said, and this time, it was a plea. “We can’t have kids. We’re moving past it. Or we’re supposed to be. I thought we were. But then tonight happened, and—” He sucked in a breath. “You and Dad made your peace with it. We haven’t yet.”

“It takes time,” Leia said, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder. “And it helps to have people to share the burden with.”

For the first time since before he left for Luke’s school, Ben let himself lean against her.

***

Ben’s childhood room had long since been converted into an office for Leia, while Rey’s old room was now furnished with kid-sized beds and other amenities, so Nora and Max would be comfortable when they spent weekends with their grandparents—so it fell to Ben to make up the couch with sheets and pillow.

It was a tight fit—his feet dangled off the end, and he was likely to roll over and fall onto the floor in his sleep—but it was better than crashing in his speeder or even on his ship. There was something inherently comfortable about spending the night in the home where he grew up.

Well after midnight, his eyes were burning with weariness but he struggled to quiet his mind enough to fall asleep. He reached for the coffee table, feeling for his comm so he could check the time. When he grabbed the device, it was off. He remembered that he’d impulsively shut it off while he was driving and neglected to turn it back on. Come to think of it, Leia had mentioned that he wasn’t answering his comm earlier. That was why. He switched the comm back on.

The screen lit up with a dozen missed transmissions—two from Rey, one from Leia and the rest from Armitage. He had several voice messages, as well. His heart did a slow, painful somersault when he saw that all but one were left by the same person, over a period of several hours. He selected the first message and lay back down, listening closely in the dark.

“Ben. It’s me.” Armitage’s voice was tense, almost self-conscious. “I wanted to… apologize, for how I reacted tonight. It was—extreme.” He cleared his throat. “Let me know when you get where you’re going.”

After the message ended, the next one began to play automatically.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to leave,” Armitage said. Each word sounded carefully measured. “That was uncalled for and unfair. I hope you can—that we can—resolve this. Together.” There was a moment’s pause. “You wanted to talk about… things. So talk to me.”

The next message was left almost two hours after the previous one.

“I know I was wrong. All right?” Armitage’s voice was harsher than before. He’d had time to stew in his feelings and had moved on to anger and hurt, Ben figured. “I’ve apologized. There’s no need to keep punishing me. And before you ask—no, I haven’t been drinking.” He sighed, and with his voice so close, Ben imagined he could feel his mate’s breath against his ear. “Just let me know where you are, will you? The silent treatment is for children.”

There were a few seconds of quiet at the beginning of the next message. All Ben could hear was the faint rasp of Armitage’s breathing.

“Ben,” Armitage said at last. His voice was thick and unsteady. “I’ve been thinking. We can take Rey up on her offer, if she’s serious. Or we can go to counseling. Or whatever else you want. If you would just—” There was a shaky intake of breath. “Ben, our marriage is the only good thing I’ve ever had in my life, and I can’t—” A muffled sound, like a sob, that made Ben’s chest ache. “Please come home.”

When Ben closed his eyes, he could see Armitage’s face.

He played the message again.

***

In the morning, Ben left his parents’ apartment before Han or Leia emerged from their bedroom. He practically raced back to Emita, weaving expertly around other speeders in the middle of a daily commute. When he got closer to home, at least, outside the city proper, the traffic was lighter. He made good time.

Armitage’s speeder was parked out front, which Ben chose to interpret as a good sign. It was what he needed right now.

Ben heard voices as he opened the front door—but when he stepped into the sitting room, which was full of warm light that poured through the windows, he found that it was just the holoset, playing some Coruscanti talk show at a low volume.

There was a clatter in the kitchen, like something had been dropped or knocked over. “Ben?”

“It’s me,” he said, feeling strangely hesitant.

Armitage appeared in the kitchen doorway. His hair was mussed and the thin skin under his eyes was almost purple from sleeplessness. He was barefoot, dressed in sweatpants and one of Ben’s shirts—a wrinkled one that he recalled throwing in the laundry basket yesterday.

For a moment, they just stared at each other. Then Armitage said, “You came back.”

“Of course I did,” Ben said. He shifted from foot to foot. “I got your messages.”

Armitage’s mouth twitched. “But you didn’t answer,” he said. “Are your fingers broken? You can’t pick up a comm?”

Ben suppressed a sigh. He hadn’t come back just to rehash the same argument. “Can we just—”

“You stormed out of here—”

“Because you told me to leave—”

“I know that!” Armitage’s voice was ragged. He looked both furious and close to tears. “And then I didn’t hear from you, for hours. You weren’t answering your comm. Rey had no clue where you were. I was going out of my head. I thought you’d wrecked your speeder somewhere, and it was my fault—”

“Armie,” Ben said, softer. “I’m here now.”

Armitage said nothing to that. But he let Ben pull him close, leaning into him and wrapping his arms around Ben’s waist. Ben pressed a kiss to the side of Armitage’s head. He was only gone for one night, but he’d missed this—missed Armitage, the way he missed him when he was three systems away with only the memory of his mate’s scent to keep him company.

“It is my fault, though,” Armitage said after a while, into Ben’s shoulder. “All of it. Because I’m—defective.”

“Don’t say that.”

Armitage didn’t seem to hear him. “There would’ve been nothing to hide if it weren’t for me,” he said. “My body is evolved for one biological function, and I can’t even do that right. It’s not supposed to be this hard—”

Ben held him a little tighter. “And that’s not your fault.”

The sound that escaped Armitage sounded halfway between a scoff and a sob. “The only time I managed to get pregnant, my body killed our child,” he said. “Whose fault was that?”

“No one’s,” Ben insisted. He’d said as much to Armitage, more times than he could count, but Armitage never believed him.

“So we’re just a bad combination. Biologically incompatible.”

“That’s not true,” Ben said immediately. He was fairly sure there was no such thing—at least, not where humans were concerned. Their case was bad luck, nothing more than that. “You know it’s not.”

Armitage was so close that Ben could feel him breathing: the push-pull of his ribs. “Maybe…” He hesitated. “Maybe this the Force’s way of telling us that we’re not right for each other.”

Ben’s heart stumbled. “You don’t believe in the Force,” he said. Not the way Ben did, at least. Though Armitage had witnessed the power of the Force firsthand, he’d never quite bought into the mysticism of it.

“But you do,” Armitage said. “You’re always going on about the will of the Force, whatever that means. There must be a reason for this. For everything. That’s what you believe, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know what the reason is. But I know it’s not—that,” Ben said, the words catching in his throat. He drew back enough to see Armitage’s face. “Where is this coming from?”

In the clear morning light, Armitage looked exceptionally pale. His eyes were red-rimmed. “You should’ve chosen a different mate,” he said at last, quietly. “Someone who’s not—difficult. Someone who can give you what you need.”

“Hold on—” Ben almost couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“All I’m saying is that I would… I would understand. There’s no real compromise to be had on something like this.” Despite his words, Armitage was clutching the back of Ben’s shirt like he never wanted to let go. “You don’t have to give up the life you want because of me.”

Ben stared at him. “Last night, you said our marriage was the best thing in your life,” he said, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice.

“I meant that. Every word.” Armitage seemed to struggle to look Ben in the eyes. “But I don’t want you to regret this.”

“What’s there to regret? We tried everything. There was nothing more anyone could do.”

Armitage was shaking his head. “It’s not too late for you,” he said. “But some morning, ten or fifteen years from now, you’re going to wake up and realize that you missed your chance. That it’s going to be just the two of us—”

Abruptly, Ben asked, “What kind of life do you think I want?”

Armitage squeezed his eyes shut, like he couldn’t bear to look at Ben.

Ben had known for a long time that Armitage blamed himself for their circumstances. But when he reached out with the Force, gently, the sense of guilt and shame that radiated from Armitage was crushing. It must feel like a physical weight he was dragging behind him.

Somehow, even after what they’d been through this year, Ben had never realized that his mate’s unhappiness ran this deep.

Ben said, quietly, “Look at me.”

Armitage shook his head. He looked pained.

“Armie,” Ben said, softer. Ben reached up to cup his mate’s face. Armitage hadn’t shaved yet this morning, which was unlike him, so his jaw was rough with stubble. “Look at me.”

After a moment, Armitage did. His body had gone stiff—like he was bracing himself, like he would shatter if Ben touched him wrong.

Looking at him steadily, Ben said, “I would rather be childless with you than a father with anyone else.” He stroked Armitage’s cheekbone with his thumb as he spoke, a gentle touch. “This is the life I want—the one I have with you.”

Armitage was shaking. “Ben…”

“I thought you knew,” Ben told him, and he really had. But sometimes, he realized now, the words had to be said out loud—even when he thought the other person might not be ready to hear them. “I thought you knew how much I love you. If I ever made you doubt that—”

“You didn’t.” There was a note of helplessness in Armitage’s voice. The sunlight pouring through the windows shivered in his eyes. “But last night, when you left—” His hands came up to hold Ben’s wrists. “I thought I’d finally pushed you too far. You weren’t coming back. And I realized that’s what I deserved, after all that—”

Ben shushed him. “I told you,” he said, leaning in to kiss the top of his mate’s cheekbone. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

***

Bars of late morning sunlight striped the bed, where the sheets were tangled around their legs. Ben stroked one hand along Armitage’s bare back, counting the knobs of his spine. In their ten years together, they’d had many reunions, most of them when Ben returned from a job offworld. But this one felt different. Sweeter, and more permanent.

“I never wanted children before we met,” Armitage said after a while, turning his head on the pillow so he could look at Ben. “Well. I did. But I never thought I’d have any.”

Ben hummed. “How come?”

“It seemed like it was for other people. Stable people.”

“You were plenty stable when we met,” Ben said. At the time, he’d been impressed by how put-together Armitage was. He seemed to have it all figured out, which Ben certainly did not. “I was the unstable one.”

“I had a job and a niche area of expertise—that was it,” Armitage said. “No real prospects outside of that. No family, either. Nothing to fall back on. What kind of mate would want what I had to offer?”

Ben raised his eyebrows. “I’m flattered.”

Armitage reached over to shove at his shoulder. “I mean that I couldn’t picture it for myself,” he said. “A mate. Children. I didn’t think there was enough of me to give to someone else. Then I met you, and I realized that I could love another person—properly.”

“I think I know what you mean,” Ben said. He’d felt much the same when they met. It was the sense of something falling into place, perfectly, for the first time.

The smile Armitage gave him was wobbly but real. “I wouldn’t have gone through all that with anyone else,” he went on, quieter. “It wouldn’t have been worth it. But I loved our life together, and I wanted to share it with our children. I wanted us to be a family.”

“We are,” Ben said, without hesitation. He took Armitage’s hand and guided it the base of his own throat: to the bond mark that would last for the rest of his life. “You’re my family. You know that, right?”

Armitage traced his fingers over Ben’s scar, gently. “I know,” he said. “But—”

“But nothing.” Ben wondered if Armitage could feel his pulse through the thin skin at the base of his throat. “I realized something recently.”

“What’s that?”

“It turns out, I’m a pretty simple person. I don’t need much to be happy. Just you,” Ben said. “Only you.”

“Ben…”

“I used to hear the things people said about alpha-omega pairs and think it was a load of bantha shit,” Ben told him. “The stuff you see in holos, I mean. There’s no such thing as soulmates. Even if there were, nobody would ever find theirs—the galaxy’s too big.” Finally, he brought Armitage’s hand to his mouth and kissed his fingers. “But now I look at you and I can’t believe I ever thought that. If the two of us meeting wasn’t the will of the Force, I don’t know what is.”

***

When Ben and Armitage showed up for dinner at Han and Leia’s apartment a week later, there was a palpable tension around the table. Ben sensed that they were all thinking of what had happened recently—the things that were said and unsaid.

Nobody brought it up directly. But it wasn’t a secret, either. Not anymore.

For once, there was no pressure to plaster on a smile and hold someone else’s baby or endure lighthearted ribbing about their childlessness. No matter how many kids Rey and Finn had, Ben was fairly sure they would never be expected to attend another baby shower as long as they lived. It was a relief not to have to make any more excuses.

If Ben’s family pitied them on some level, as Armitage had feared, they did a good job of hiding it. During the meal, Ben sensed Armitage slowly relaxing his guard—realizing, maybe, that no one was going to confront him with invasive questions or unsolicited advice.

The evening felt normal to Ben, which was what made it strange. He couldn’t remember the last time sharing a meal with his family didn’t feel like navigating a minefield. It was easier to talk to Rey, and his parents, and even Finn, because he felt like they could hear him now, in a way that wasn’t possible before.

Sometimes, Ben thought, you didn’t realize you were being crushed by a terrible weight until you got out from under it.

***

It was the off season on Naboo, or what passed for it. Most families visited their homes in the Lake Country during summer, but Armitage had always preferred the colder months, when the lakes were steel-colored and choppy under silvery skies and the tall grasses rippled in the cold winds. He told Ben once that this kind of weather reminded him of the place where he grew up, beside a stormy sea—a place where he was happy, at least until his mother died.

With her gone, Armitage said there was no reason for him to return to Arkanis. But he and Ben could always go back to Naboo.

It was rare that Ben managed to slip out of bed without rousing Armitage. But their second morning on Naboo, he managed to get up, dress, practice his usual lightsaber forms on the dewy grass outside the rented cottage, cook breakfast and clean up before Armitage wandered out of the bedroom.

“Welcome back,” Ben said. He was fiddling with the caf brewer in the kitchen. “You slept like the dead.”

“Pfassk, I feel like it,” Armitage muttered. His hair was damp from the shower, but he didn’t look fully awake or particularly well-rested. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Yeah. I made you a plate.”

Armitage glanced at the plate of dewback eggs and nilluk strips that Ben had left on the carved wooden table. Then his nose wrinkled, like he’d smelled something bad. He poured himself a mug of caf instead.

“Are you all right?” Ben asked suddenly.

“Of course,” Armitage said, stifling a yawn. “A little tired, that’s all.”

That made sense—they were both adjusting to local time on Naboo. But somehow, Ben felt there was more to it. “You seem different,” he said, looking closely at Armitage.

“In what way?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said. “You just—feel like you’ve changed somehow.”

Armitage looked unsettled. “Well, I haven’t,” he said.

“Not in a bad sense. I just…” Ben shook his head with a sigh. “I can’t explain it.”

Armitage said nothing to that, and Ben didn’t press it. They finished their caf in companionable silence.

***

A week after they returned from Naboo, Ben walked into their room and found Armitage already in bed, reading the news on his datapad. Something prickled across Ben’s senses—a little shiver in the Force, at once familiar and strange. It seemed to be coming from his mate.

He approached the bed, one step after another, reaching out with his feelings, more purposefully this time. There it was again. He recognized it now—a bloom of light and darkness, the basis of all life, which radiated from all beings and growing things.

Ben had felt such a thing before, though never within his mate.

“Armie,” he said, over the sudden rush of blood in his ears.

“What?” Armitage said, without glancing up from his reading.

“I think you’re pregnant.”

At that, Armitage’s head snapped up. “What?”

Ben let out a shaky breath. “You’re pregnant,” he said, the realization sinking in even as he spoke. He almost couldn’t believe it. But he knew enough to trust his senses. “That’s what I felt before. That’s what changed.”

For a second, Armitage just stared at him. Then his expression crumpled. “That’s not funny, Ben.”

“I’m not kidding. I would never joke about something like this—”

“Then you’re mistaken.” Armitage set his datapad aside. “It’s not possible. You know that.”

“You’ve been sick lately—”

“I’ve been feeling a little run down, from traveling,” Armitage said, defensively, as if Ben had accused him of something unpleasant. “That doesn’t mean I’m—” He broke off, like he couldn’t bear to speak the word. “You can’t just go around saying things like that.”

Ben was undeterred. “I can feel it,” he insisted, reaching for his mate.

The first time Armitage became pregnant, well over a year ago now, Ben never sensed their baby’s life force. They lost the baby before it had developed enough for that—around the eighth week. It dawned on him that Armitage must be at a later stage than that, if he was noticing a presence now.

“Why are you doing this?” Armitage asked, lifting a hand to ward Ben off. He sounded pained, like an old wound had pulled open inside him.

“Because it’s real,” Ben told him. “You really don’t believe me?”

Suddenly Armitage scowled and swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Fine,” he said. “If you’re not going to drop it, then I’ll prove it to you.”

He got up and marched into the attached refresher, shutting the door behind him with more force than needed.

Ben knew what he was going for. In a cupboard under the sink was a big box of pregnancy tests, which Armitage had purchased in bulk while preparing for what turned out to be their final IVF cycle. He’d used a chunk of them to reconfirm the pregnancy and to reassure himself that it was real in the following days and weeks. After the miscarriage, he used a few more to determine that his hormones were returning to normal. A handful of tests remained. Even after they decided to stop trying, Armitage never threw them out, and Ben couldn’t bring himself to do it, either.

Neither of them had fully moved on yet. Looking back, Ben wondered if some part of them, however small and unacknowledged, had held out hope.

Now Armitage was taking a test because he thought Ben was getting his hopes up for something that wasn’t real. But despite his mate’s doubts, Ben knew what he’d felt.

Several long minutes passed.

Then, through the door, he heard Armitage bleat, “Ben!”

The ‘fresher door was unlocked. Ben opened it and found Armitage seated on the closed toilet lid, gaping at the test clutched in his hand.

He looked up at Ben with an expression of pure bewilderment. His face was drained of all color. “This can’t be right,” he said, holding the test out for Ben to see. His hand was trembling.

The test was positive.

Obviously, undeniably positive.

Ben felt a smile spread over his face. “It is,” he said, overwhelmed. “Armie—”

Standing, Armitage dropped the test on the counter with a clatter. “I might not be pregnant. I could have cancer,” he said, so quickly that the words ran together. He was gulping for breath, on the edge of panic. “Some types of cancer can cause a positive pregnancy test result—”

Of course he knew that, Ben thought. “You don’t have cancer,” he said.

“But I can’t be pregnant,” Armitage insisted. His eyes were damp. He looked a little frightened. “We weren’t even trying. I’m almost thirty-nine years old. I’m on suppressants. I’m kriffing infertile!”

“Here, just let me—” Ben reached out once again, questioningly this time.

It was a moment before Armitage nodded, tense, and let Ben press a hand against his lower belly.

Even through the fabric of his shirt, Ben felt the warmth of Armitage’s body. When he extended his senses, he felt it again—a presence. Small but undeniable. Enveloped by Armitage’s life force and yet distinct from him. He’d picked up on the same curious presence each time Rey was expecting. There was no mistaking it—the feeling of new life.

“Armie,” he said on an exhale, unable to take his eyes off his mate’s midsection.

“Ben, are you…” Armitage’s voice was practically a whisper. He sounded afraid—but he also sounded hopeful. “You’re sure?”

Ben’s throat had gone tight, but he was smiling. “I wish you could feel it,” he said. “It’s…”

He trailed off. Now that he was really searching, he detected something else: a wobbly, rhythmic patter in the Force. It took Ben a moment to recognize the faint flutter of a new heart. But there was something else.

He sank to his knees on the tile, touching both hands to Armitage’s belly, like he could make sense of what he was feeling if he only got close enough.

“Ben?” Armitage was gripping the edge of the counter with one hand and Ben’s shoulder with the other, like he would collapse if he let go. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Nothing, it’s just…” Ben looked up at him. “There’s two.”

Armitage’s voice jumped. “What?”

“Two hearts.”

“You mean—”

“Twins,” Ben said. What he’d initially thought was one presence was really two, nestled so closely together that it was hard to separate one from the other.

“Kriff,” Armitage said, and immediately clamped a hand over his mouth. His eyes looked damp.

“Are you…” Ben straightened, his hands lingering on Armitage’s hips. He swallowed. “Are you not happy?”

Armitage made a choked noise. “How could you say that?” he asked, and when he took his hand away from his mouth, Ben saw that he was smiling, even though he also looked close to tears. “Of course I am. I’ve never been happier in my life. Ben, I—” He broke off with a sound that was caught between a laugh and a sob. He looked down at himself, touching a hand to his stomach. “I can’t believe it—”

When Ben pulled Armitage into his arms, they were both laughing.

“How could this happen?” Armitage asked after a moment, breathlessly.

“I don’t know.” Ben didn’t think he could stop smiling if he tried. He’d heard of infertile couples who miraculously conceived, of course—such anecdotes were always floating around on the HoloNet, so-called “success stories” that never made him feel better in the middle of a treatment cycle. He’d never thought such a thing would happen to them. And yet, when he reached out with the Force, he could feel two tiny hearts, beating somewhere below Armitage’s. “Twins. This is...”

Suddenly Armitage tensed. “I’ve been drinking,” he said. “And we were just offworld. Spaceports are crawling with disease. What if—”

Ben shushed him, gently. “Don’t think about that yet,” he said.

A breath escaped Armitage. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“I know you’re scared,” Ben murmured, into his mate’s hair. This time, he didn’t need the Force to know what Armitage was feeling. He knew how precarious it all was. “I am, too.”

Armitage’s hands tightened on the back of Ben’s shirt. “Ben—”

“Just—let yourself be happy about this,” Ben urged him. He held Armitage tighter. “For a little while.”

They would never have that perfect happiness that Rey and Finn shared—the happiness of people who had never known loss. But they could have this much: a fragile hope, for however long it lasted. Surely they deserved it.

“I am happy,” Armitage said, and though his voice was soft, Ben believed him. He leaned into Ben, who leaned back, the two of them holding each other upright.

***

Later that week, in a small, dimly-lit room at the medcenter, Ben sniffled through the dating scan—astonished, overwhelmed. Armitage cried, too, though he did a better job of hiding it.

Though Ben had sensed them for days now—sometimes lying awake in their bed at night, counting heartbeats until he drifted off—it was something else to see the babies on a screen: twin smudges with glowing hearts.

After carefully studying the scan, the ultrasound technician gently explained that Armitage was carrying twins. He had no previous heat cycle they could use to estimate the due date, but based on the development of the twins, he appeared to be about ten weeks along. That meant they conceived around two months ago.

Counting backward, Ben had some idea of when it happened: the morning after he stormed out. He’d come home after spending the night away, and later, he and Armitage made love in their bed. They’d rocked together gently, like new lovers, getting to know each other again. It was the only time they’d been together during that narrow window, as far as Ben remembered. He couldn’t have imagined that this would be the result.

The technician raised her eyebrows slightly when Ben said they’d suspected twins, but she did not otherwise comment. Then she adjusted the settings on her equipment and the sound of two heartbeats filled the room, somehow stronger than Ben had expected. The image on the screen swam in his vision; he struggled to blink the tears away, swiping at his eyes with one hand.

The fear that something would go wrong was with him even now, like a weight he had to drag along behind him, impossible to ignore. It was hard to muster the same excitement he’d felt the last time he was in this situation, because he was incredibly aware that it might not last. Detecting a heartbeat was supposed to be a sign that the danger had passed, but they’d had a loss after this point before. On top of that, twins were riskier than single babies. Nothing was guaranteed.

But despite all that—Ben hoped.

For what felt like a long time, they sat together in the darkened room, listening to the heartbeats.

Armitage never let go of Ben’s hand.

***

They were sent home with a copy of the ultrasound. Unlike last time, Ben wasn’t sure what to do with it. The datachip felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket all through the drive home—burning a hole clean through him.

“Ben,” Armitage said, when he caught Ben looking at the empty space on the fridge where the other ultrasound had been placed for a few short weeks.

“Yeah?”

“Let’s tell your family.”

For a second, Ben was unsure of what he meant. “I mean—we’ll have to tell them at some point,” he said. “Before it gets obvious.”

Assuming the pregnancy progressed, of course. Ben tried not to think of that.

“No, I mean—I want to tell them now,” Armitage said.

Ben blinked. “Now?”

“Well—soon. We could have them over this week, if you like.”

“I thought you’d want to wait,” Ben said slowly.

“But you don’t want that. Do you?”

Ben hesitated. “Where’s this coming from?”

Armitage didn’t answer right away.

He was correct, of course. Last time, Ben was eager to share the news. He would’ve called Rey immediately if Armitage had let him—but his mate was adamant that they not breathe a word to anyone else until he was safely into the second trimester. He didn’t want anyone to know he was pregnant until he was confident that they would bring a baby home. That choice spared them having to explain their loss or disappoint anyone. But it also left them isolated in their grief. Ben would prefer not to make that trade off again.

“I thought about what you said,” Armitage told him, after a moment. “About—being happy. I’m trying.”

“I know you are.” Ben knew that Armitage wanted to make the best of the time he had with their twins, however long it lasted. He also knew how hard it was to live with this uncertainty.

“Your parents would be happy about this, I think,” Armitage went on. “So would your sister. I thought…” He took a breath. “Maybe we should give them a chance to be happy with us.”

Ben studied him. “Are you sure?” he asked. “If something happens…”

“If something happens,” Armitage said, “then it won’t be like last time.” He reached up to smooth his hands over Ben’s shirtfront. “I don’t want you to be alone again.”

“You don’t have to be alone, either,” Ben reminded him. “They’re your family, too.”

At that, Armitage managed a smile. “I know,” he said. “That’s why we should tell them.”

***

This time, it was Armitage who put the ultrasound on the fridge.

Meanwhile, Ben commed his family to invite them over for dinner tomorrow.

***

“Come on,” Ben said, leaning closer to the holocomm that he’d placed on the table in his ship’s small lounge area. In front of him, Armitage was projected from the chest up. “Please?”

Armitage shook his head. He appeared before Ben as a blue-toned “I don’t think so.”

“I just want to look.”

“You’ll see soon enough. Honestly, Ben—”

“It was your idea for me to take this job,” Ben pointed out, not unkindly. “Don’t make me beg.”

A moment passed. The hologram wavered. Then Armitage heaved a sigh. “Oh, all right,” he said. “If it’ll stop your complaining.”

When he eased himself out of his seat and rose, looking tremendously put-upon, Ben could no longer see his face, only his torso. It was nighttime on Chandrila, and he was dressed for bed, in loose pants and an old shirt of Ben’s that was getting increasingly tight across the middle. He turned sideways so Ben could get the full effect.

“There,” he said in a somewhat sour tone, rubbing a hand over his rounded stomach. “Happy now?”

“Extremely,” Ben said, and, stars, he meant it. For so long, he’d worried they would never get to this point. They had both spent the early months braced for something to happen. It was only after Armitage began to feel the twins moving, almost two months after the pregnancy was confirmed, that he seemed to let himself relax enough to really enjoy the experience. “I think you’re already bigger than when I left.”

He could almost hear Armitage rolling his eyes. “I realize I’m enormous,” he muttered, using one hand to steady himself as he lowered himself into the chair again. At twenty-seven weeks pregnant, his center of gravity was thrown off by the increasing weight of the twins. “No need to rub it in.”

“That’s not what I meant. Come on—you look good,” Ben said. He really did, though it was less obvious when he appeared as a blue-toned hologram. “You’re, you know—”

“Don’t say it,” Armitage warned.

“Glowing,” Ben told him, determined.

Armitage rolled his eyes. “Stop that.”

“What? I’m serious.” Lately Ben had noticed that his mate’s hair appeared thicker and his skin had more color. He was putting on weight, too, which Ben appreciated more than he had expected. All told, Armitage seemed healthy. Abundant. Ben wasn’t sure why it embarrassed him to have it pointed out, but this wasn’t the time to press the issue. “How are my girls?”

“Keeping me up at night,” Armitage said, touching a hand to his middle. He didn’t especially displeased about this, however. Though Ben knew he was growing increasingly uncomfortable, he rarely complained about his various pains.

Even before the anatomy scan at twenty weeks, Ben had a feeling that the babies were female. When the most recent ultrasound appeared to confirm his prediction, he was thrilled. He’d always liked the idea of having a daughter—and now he would have two.

“Keeping me up at night,” Armitage said with a sigh. “I’m beginning to think it might’ve been a bad idea to send you off.”

“Is that so?”

Han had recently approached Ben with a job offer—a quick jump to the Mid Rim, there and back again in a week. Though there was nothing dicey about the client or cargo, Ben was reluctant to accept, not wanting to leave his mate even for that long. Armitage, however, encouraged him to go, on the grounds that he should take advantage of what would probably be his last chance to get offworld for at least a year. Ben only agreed after Rey promised to look in on Armitage while he was gone.

Indeed, Ben planned to stay on Chandrila for the foreseeable future. He wanted to be around to look after his mate, and on the chance that the twins arrived early, he didn’t want to risk missing the birth. Later on, Armitage would return to work, while Ben stayed home to care for the babies. That was always the plan, from the time they first decided to have children.

It would be a somewhat unconventional arrangement, but not unheard of. Neither of them wanted to hand their children off to a droid or leave them in daycare. Armitage loved his work too much to give it up, however, and he didn’t relish the idea of being left alone with their twins for stretches of time while his mate was halfway across the galaxy. Ben, meanwhile, had longed to be a father for so many years that the thought of hanging up Kylo Ren’s mask didn’t feel like much of a sacrifice.

“As soon I’m about to fall asleep, they get active,” Armitage said. He touched a hand to his stomach, grimacing faintly, like one of the babies was kicking. “I think they’re used to you being here at night.”

That made Ben smile. Before he and Armitage went to bed, he liked to put his face close to his mate’s belly and talk to the babies. It had become a habit. He told them about the worlds he wanted show them, and the things he would teach them, and all the fun they would have together. Sometimes one of the babies kicked or rolled over in response, which often caused the other to move, as well, leading to halfhearted complaints from Armitage. (“They’re never going to let me sleep if you keep getting them worked up…”) They were getting stronger all the time. Ben already missed them, after only a few days away—his mate, and their two little miracles.

“I’ll be home soon,” Ben said. “I promise.”

***

Armitage whispered, “Let me up.”

“Hmm?” It was a moment before his words registered with Ben, who was half alseep, his head full of the scent of his mate’s skin. They had gravitated toward each other in the night, Ben’s body slotted behind Armitage’s, one arm draped over him. The bedroom was dark—it was not yet sunrise.

“Move,” Armitage said, more urgent this time. He was attempting to wriggle out from under Ben’s arm. “I’m not kidding. Let me up before I piss myself—”

Ben’s eyes snapped open. He released Armitage, rolling away onto his back, while Armitage pushed himself into a sitting position and scooted to the edge of the bed.

At thirty-six weeks pregnant, getting out of bed was an intricate process that involved carefully rocking himself onto his feet, one hand supporting his stomach and the other braced against his lower back. He waddled into the attached refresher.

When he returned some minutes later, Ben offered him a hand for support as he eased himself onto the edge of the bed. Armitage hesitated before swinging his legs up onto the bed, one at a time, his movements stiff. He didn’t move to lie down right away.

With one hand, Ben kneaded at his mate’s lower back. He could feel how tight the muscles were. “I know you’re uncomfortable.”

“Oh, you know, do you?” Armitage drawled.

“You’re almost done,” Ben reminded him, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone.

The twins would be born surgically next week—assuming Armitage didn’t go into labor before the scheduled procedure. In the past, Ben knew, Armitage had imagined an unmedicated birth. But one of the babies was stubbornly breech, and in the end, the doctor advised that a surgical birth was the safest, simplest option for all three of them. Whatever he’d envisioned years ago, Armitage didn’t want to take any chances now, and Ben supported him fully. As with all aspects of becoming parents, they’d both adjusted their expectations.

Armitage sighed. “I thought I’d be more anxious about it,” he said. “The surgery. But now I’m just ready for this to be over.”

“You’re impatient to meet them,” Ben said, nosing at his mate’s hair. Armitage smelled different lately—a subtle change that was difficult to describe, a kind of ripeness. “Of course you are. You’ve been waiting a long time.”

“Not just me,” Armitage said, glancing over his shoulder at Ben. Then he paused. “It’s just that, once they’re here…”

“Then you’ll know they’re all right.” Ben knew what he meant—this low-level anxiety had plagued Armitage throughout the pregnancy. While Ben could use the Force to reassure himself that the babies were all right, Armitage didn’t have the same luxury. Even ultrasounds and other tests could only assuage his fears so much. He wouldn’t be able to fully relax until he had them in his arms. “We’ll hold them soon. You’ll see.”

“I know. I just—” Armitage broke off with a huff, touching a hand to his belly.

Ben straightened, instantly tense. “You all right?”

Armitage nodded. “They’re just kicking,” he said with a faint grimace. Then he reached for Ben’s free hand, guiding it to the lower curve of his belly, where the skin was stretched tight. “Feel that?”

The baby was squirming under Ben’s hand, almost as if she knew he was here. The thought made him smile. “Which one?”

“The little troublemaker, I think,” Armitage said. That was how he sometimes fondly referred to the breech baby, who had been the cause of such consternation before they finally decided to opt for a scheduled surgery. He had some idea of which twin was which, based on their positions. At this late stage, they were unlikely to swap places—there wasn’t enough space for that. “She gets it from you.”

“You think so?” Ben rubbed at the spot where he’d felt movement, and something pressed back: a little hand or foot. His grin widened. Feeling the twins move like this never got old. “How about you two let your dad get some rest?”

Armitage hummed. “Not likely. They’re impatient, too, I think.”

“They get that from you,” Ben said wisely. He leaned close enough to kiss Armitage behind the ear, one hand still resting on his stomach, where the twins were kicking.

It felt like the universe was finally giving back to them, even more than what it had taken away.

***

The twins were born on a cloudy Taungsday morning, right on schedule.

They both had Ben’s ears—a fact that was immediately remarked upon by Armitage, as well as two nurses. Ben could only hope the girls grew into their features, something he had never quite managed to do himself. (Armitage swore up and down that he liked Ben’s ears, however.)

“I’m your dad,” Ben murmured to the baby drowsing against his chest—Miranda, the little troublemaker, who was born first. He had her tucked under his shirt, skin on skin, with a blanket draped over them both; this kind of contact was supposed to promote bonding and help her get used to his scent. “Remember me?”

He wasn’t sure if she recognized his voice, even after all those nights he spent talking to Armitage’s belly. But she seemed to know him all the same. When he reached out with the Force, delicately, he sensed that she knew nothing but feelings of warmth and contentment. She felt safe with him. He hoped she always would.

Ben had many so many promises to her and her sister before they were born. He intended to make good on all of them.

“So does it feel?” Armitage asked quietly. He was propped up in bed, their other daughter in his arms, bundled against his skin. Johanna was a little smaller than her sister—more delicate, it seemed, since she’d needed a little respiratory support immediately after birth.

“I should be asking you that question,” Ben replied, rubbing Miranda’s little back. She was small enough that he could cover her back completely with one hand. “You’re the one who had your insides rearranged.”

During the surgery, Armitage had looked exceptionally pale under the lights in the operating room. A screen was rigged up across his chest, presumably so neither of them would inadvertently catch a glimpse of the procedure. Ben remembered wishing he could hold Armitage’s hand, but his mate’s arms were strapped to the table.

It happened faster than Ben had expected. Before long, the surgeon was lifting a wailing, gray-tinged Miranda from Armitage’s body and handing her to a medidroid to be scanned, weighed and wiped clean. Johanna followed just two minutes later. Her cries were weaker, more like sputters, but soon she was screaming like her sister. Ben had never heard a more beautiful sound. He got to cut her umbilical cord while Armitage was being sewn up.

After how packed the operating room was, it came as a relief to be alone together in a private room. The curtains were drawn and the lights were dimmed, which gave the place a more restful feeling.

“I feel great,” Armitage said, and Ben sensed that was true, at least for now. He was brimming with hormones and comfortably medicated. “But that’s not what I meant.” He shifted Johanna in his arms. “How does it feel to be a dad?”

Ben could feel the push-pull of Miranda’s lungs under his hand. “It’s not like I imagined,” he said.

“No?”

“It’s better,” Ben said with a smile. Already he was astonished by how much love he felt for their daughters—enough to knock him over. It seemed almost too much for one person. But he thought he could bear it. Then he paused, holding Armitage’s gaze. “I’m proud of you.”

Armitage made the slightly pinched expression that he did whenever Ben complimented him. “Ben…”

“I mean it. You did this for us. You’ve given me so much—” He sat up a little as he spoke, and Miranda whimpered in protest. He kissed her wrinkled forehead in apology. “Shh, I didn’t mean to scare you—”

“I wanted to,” Armitage said quietly. “I always have.” He shifted Johanna in his arms, carefully, and Ben remembered what he’d said about how he wouldn’t have gone through all this with anyone else. “Whatever I have, whatever I am—that’s yours. You know that, don’t you?”

Ben’s throat felt tight. He worked one arm out from under the blanket and held out his hand, reaching for the edge of the bed. He was close enough that he could run his fingertips over Johanna’s soft, dark hair. “I know,” he said. For years, he’d felt that Armitage was part of him, as vital and inseparable as his own blood.

Armitage took his hand and laced their fingers together. Their entwined hands rested on the edge of the bed, bridging the gap between them, so it was as if nothing separated them at all.

“That’s the Force, isn’t it?” Armitage asked after a while. “It’s like gravity. It holds everything together, for the rest of our lives.”

Ben smiled. “Longer than that,” he promised.

In a little while, he would comm Rey again. He’d spoken to her after Armitage was wheeled into recovery, to let her know that he and the girls were doing well, leaving it to her to update the rest of the family. (He got no small amount of pleasure from telling her that she was finally an aunt.) She and Finn could visit today, if they liked, when Armitage had rested a bit more.

Han and Leia would certainly come, as well. Leia had already asked for holos, shortly after she got the news from Rey. Her messages had made Ben smile. He looked forward to introducing his parents to his children, at last.

The hard part would come after—late-night feedings, and diaper changes, and the million other challenges he’d heard so much about from other parents. He and Armitage would have to rearrange their lives around the babies, now and forever, like moons caught in a new orbit. Nothing would be the same.

Ben couldn’t wait.

For now, though, this room felt like a private world that contained only the four of them. He was content to stay here, holding his mate’s hand, while their daughters slept.

Looking from Armitage’s face—so familiar, and so dear—to Miranda and Johanna, who were already like the sun and the moons in Chandrila’s sky to him, he wondered if this was what it felt like to have everything in the galaxy that he wanted.

**Author's Note:**

> **additional content warnings:** miscarriage (including references to blood and references to a D&C); eventual spontaneous (successful) pregnancy after infertility; non-graphic references to a C-section.
> 
> ***
> 
> **a note from firstorderdaddies:**  
Thank you for reading our fic! I was really thrilled someone had chosen my prompt and I’m really proud of the outcome. I had come up with the prompt as a modern setting ABO mostly focusing on certain key events you’ll see in this story, and Kaye had the great idea of making it set in space but in a more domestic setting. For my drawings I chose a few different scenes to feature. I wanted to draw some fluffier pregnant Hux, but also feature the struggle of what they are going through. I had a lot of fun drawing this and getting to draw for my favorite fandom. I hope you guys enjoy! ~Han
> 
> ***
> 
> **a note from saltandrockets:**  
I was so pleased to be assigned to Hannah’s prompt. I love reading abo stories and have been meaning to write one myself for ages; I was also interested in exploring infertility (which is rarely mentioned in fanfic) and how it might affect these characters.  
  
I had a great experience collaborating with Hannah, and I hope you had a great time reading the final product. thank you for reading!
> 
> ***
> 
> visit firstorderdaddies [on tumblr](http://firstorderdaddies.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> visit saltandrockets [on tumblr](http://saltandrockets.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/saltandrockets).


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